The Many Paths of Victory
by YamiRuss
Summary: A tournament is being held in the Periodos region, hosted by the famous Professor Zamia. Can Jin win with his inexperience? Original characters
1. A Round of Jin

_I feel a disclaimer is necessary to begin. Obviously, I do not own the Pokémon franchise or any subsidiary or I would be on my own island and you'd never hear from me.  
Perhaps the most important warning is that I thought about how Pokémon are similar to animals in real life (e.g., I'm pretty sure Eevee is a fox) and so a lot of the training I describe in this first chapter is based on how one might train real animals. I hope the realism resonates with some of you to get you hooked.  
My next warning is about the voice I've chosen for this narrative. I am a big fan of first-person, but this is my first attempt at the first-person present voice, meaning I describe everything _as it happens_ to my narrator. I was going for a kind of film noir feel (e.g., _The Maltese Falcon_, _Sin City_...) and though it may be lacking due to inexperience, I promise the plot will get darker as the story goes. Coupled with the darker tone, I may have to up the rating to "M" because I'm not sure I can do a story like this without violence; in fact, I don't see how it's_ possible _to have a Pokémon story without violence. I'll see what I can do, though.  
I hope none of these departures from the typical fan fiction will deter you from reading my story, but if you only want to read anime-like stories, it's best that you know early: this ain't one._

**

* * *

**

**A Round of Jin**

I won't say I always wanted to be a Pokémon trainer. In fact, I used to think it was a dumb idea. I never had much appreciation for nature, and Pokémon are just a bunch of wild animals people decided would make good pets. Most Pokémon are just dumb animals, and those that aren't still take a long time to train. Pokémon lack human reasoning skills, after all. It's not like teaching a kid to learn his multiplication tables—Pokémon don't even have the capacity for that kind of knowledge. All they know is how to survive.

I got roped into the Pokémon trainer deal when I was sixteen and my dad died. He was a big shot Pokémon trainer for a long time; he was the leader of the Wolfram Gym in the Periodos region. His success rate was pretty high—so high, in fact, that ten times out of ten, any trainer who was talented enough to beat Dad's Pokémon was also able to make the Top Ten in the Elite Four Tournament if they competed in the same year. Dad died of a heart attack unrelated to gym battling, although I doubt the stress of his job helped much. The divorce probably didn't help, either. Mom and Dad stopped getting along when I was twelve—constant fighting and arguing over religion, politics, and child-rearing. The divorce was final the day I turned sixteen, and my sister and I chose to live with Mom because she actually gave me the attention I craved. I loved my dad, but he paid more attention to his student Pokémon trainers than to me.

When I heard of Dad's death, it didn't affect me much. Don't get me wrong—I cried for a few minutes during his funeral, but I so rarely saw him anyway that things didn't feel different from before. Mom was grief-stricken for a while, but she managed to get over it by going on a tour of the world. Carrie and I went with her for a while—until I turned 18—to the Kanto region and the Sevii Islands. That's where I caught my first Pokémon. We visited Fuchsia City and the Safari Zone so Carrie could try to catch some wild Pokémon. She actually wanted to follow in Dad's footsteps—make a big name for herself as a trainer and one day take over as Gym Leader back in Wolfram. I had no desire for that life, and I have no idea what inspired me to throw that Safari Ball at that scyther, but my first Pokémon catch was a rare one in Kanto; they're mostly imported to the Fuchsia Safari Zone from the forests in Johto.

That scyther was nothing more than a behavioral experiment for me. I just wanted to see what the big deal was—why did everyone care so much about a giant bug? For the first few days, the scyther was a complete moron. He wouldn't do much of anything except eat and sleep. I heard about a guy named Ivan Pavlov and another named Burrhus Skinner and decided to read up on them. Pavlov learned how to make dogs respond to a bell the same way they respond to food, and Skinner was able to make pigeons do complicated tasks just so they could be fed. Using the principles of behaviorism, I used more complicated strategies to train the scyther. Carrie said I just didn't understand that Pokémon training could be a relatively simple task if I just learned to connect with the animals. She treated the animals like they were toddlers—basically intelligent but unable to function efficiently on their own; I treated them like animals—unwilling to do anything unless you feed them.

People are unique—in appearance, personality, and behavior—and I chose to train the scyther through behaviorism. I won each of my first twelve Pokémon battles, but to give you an idea how much I cared, those twelve battles took me four months to complete. Battling was never important to me. In the beginning, I was only curious if I could train a Pokémon at all, but I inadvertently got attached to the scyther. I named him Musashi after the great swordsman Miyamoto Musashi who was well known for his swordsmanship and use of two swords. Eventually Musashi became a sparring partner for me.

One of the reasons I was never innately interested in Pokémon training was I cared more about personal behavior, specifically martial arts. I was a mighty swordsman, having studied kendo—"way of the sword"—in a local dojo from the time I was seven. Kendo was a wild and vigorous way to exercise and learn how to defend myself at the same time. Then again, I started to lose interest in it when I reached twelve years old and my grandfather started teaching me kenjutsu—"the art of the sword." Both series of instruction had similar purposes—to train rigorously and mold the student into a person of upstanding moral character—but whereas kendo was very sport-like, kenjutsu with my grandfather was much more meditative and skill-oriented. He even trained me in nitojutsu—"two swords method." I participated in many martial arts competitions, but mostly in the display competitions and almost never in duels—the scar under my left eye and the permanent limp in my left leg are notice to everyone why I prefer not to duel.

When I realized I actually liked Musashi—the scyther, not the swordsman—as a friend, I started to train him in nitojutsu, too. I had to start off easy on him until he learned that I wasn't trying to hurt him, but eventually he and I became synchronized in our movements. Now I can duel with Musashi at high intensity and he can match me move for move. This shared practice gets into what has become my philosophy of good Pokémon training. Like I said before, I never wanted to be a Pokémon master; it turns out I'm just good at it. I believe that Pokémon learn faster when the trainer participates in training with them. I participate in cardiovascular exercise and nitojutsu with Musashi on a regular basis. I admit that I can't keep up with Musashi when he moves at full speed, but I train with him at nothing less than full effort, and he responds to it.

My most impressive moment so far came when I submitted to a martial arts weaponry tournament with Musashi as my double. We put on a vibrant, choreographic show of swordsmanship that won first place in choreography—it was the first and, as of yet, only time a Pokémon participated in a martial arts tournament, an impressive feat that probably played a big role in our victory. Some people have tried to register fighting-type Pokémon in martial arts tournaments, but all tournaments are for people and therefore refuse registration to Pokémon. The reasoning is sound; Pokémon physically and perceptually outmatch humans, and therefore allowing them to participate in human tournaments stacks the deck, so to speak. Musashi was permitted to perform because I registered him for a non-combat category.

That's how I got an invitation to a Pokémon tournament on Quicksilver Island. The invitation claimed only sixteen Pokémon trainers were invited and the grand prize was one million dollars and a rare Pokémon. I was more attracted to the money than the Pokémon, primarily because I didn't earn much as a thirty-year-old community college science and math professor and part-time baseball coach. Either way, I was being offered a free, four-day-long vacation at a tropical island resort. I decided to go for it.

The invitation said to bring only three Pokémon. Musashi was practically my best friend, sad as that may sound, and so he was an obvious choice. Of the twelve other Pokémon I collected in my life, I settled on Dad's jolteon—the only one of his Pokémon he left to me when he died—and a Pokémon I found while I was exploring Navel Rock.

Now that I've described how I got here, I can explain my current story.

* * *

_Short and sweet; that's how to begin a story, right? Technically, the story hasn't begun yet, but now you know a little bit about my primary protagonist Jin. As you might be able to surmise, I made up a new region of the Pokémon world. Kanto's cities were named after colors, Johto's cities were named after trees and shrubs, and Periodos's cities are named after elements of the periodic table._

_Because this is a tournament story, I would love to use some character submissions from any of my readers. There will be sixteen competitors and several other people on the island, and so I can use any characters you want to give me. All I need is the following information:  
Name (goes without saying):  
Age (note that Jin is 30, and so I'd prefer mostly adults and maybe two teenagers for this particular story):  
Occupation outside of the tournament (job and location--can be any city in any region):  
Basic appearance (height, weight, build, skin tone, identifying features such as a tattoo or Jin's scar):  
Basic personality with quirks (be creative here; I can't really tell you what to give me):  
Two favorite Pokémon with nicknames and identifying features (not of the legendary variety):  
I think that's it. If I realize later I need more info, I will let you know._

_Maybe you noticed that the story mentions three Pokémon each for the tournament and I only ask for two from you. I've already decided the list of everyone's third Pokémon because it's plot-relevant, but if I select your character, I will let you approve and name the final Pokémon. If everyone picks the same Pokémon, I will have to discuss options with you or take creative liberty, and so maybe you might choose to list several Pokémon in rank-order of preference. On the occupation note, not everyone has to be a Pokémon trainer, ranger, or breeder. Some of them can be Pokémon Center employees (vets, etc.) or police officers or research assistants, or whatever kind of job you think would logically exist in the Pokémon world if most of our laws of physics were present._


	2. A Round of Women

_The first thing I'd like to say is that you folks make me feel old. I say I want the participants of this tournament to be older and the best you can come up with by yourselves is 27.  
The second thing is that I'm still a little upset at Farla (and myself) for giving away so many points about where this story is going. In my defense against his/her complaints, I gave away some points I hoped to keep to myself.  
The only thing I'm willing to say in response to a few things (such as Ooshii Kurai's comment about Jin's occupation) is to remind you that this is a first-person-present account of these events. There's a lot you can tell about a person by the information he offers (in other words, don't think that wasn't on purpose). For that same reason, don't expect all the characters to come out exactly as each of you expected. I will do my best to accommodate the characteristics you included, but everything ultimately is interpreted by Jin's personal worldviews and biases._

* * *

**A Round of Women**

I traveled to the harbor in Plumbum City to board the _Hydrargyrum_, a yacht-class ship bound for Quicksilver Island. I made it a point to meet everyone on the ship and find out what I could about them, and to make sure they all know who I am. They are a varied group, each with at least one big tournament victory under his or her belt. Listening to their stories, I realized that I was the only person who got the invite without ever participating in a Pokémon tournament. In fact, when asked for my lifetime battling record, my honest response was thirty-two wins and four losses. Everyone who knew my record was baffled; with the exception of the twelve-year-old boy, everyone had wins at least in the triple digits, making me a low outlier in a group of champions. That was when I first suspected this tournament might be over my head.

The yacht ride isn't important to my story. Its impact on my trip was practically nil. The story starts now and encompasses my stay on the island.

When we dock at Quicksilver Island, a handful of burly porters usher us to the resort mansion, which is bigger than the entire school campus where I teach. It seems to have several major subsections occupying a total land area equivalent to an airport. I think I'll need a map just to find my room.

On my way off the ship with my one suitcase bag, I sidle up to a pretty lady named Deborah and offer to help her carry her bags. She is a thirty-two-year-old redhead from the Johto region where she works in the Pokémon gym in Goldenrod City. She's an apparent up-and-comer en route to being the next Gym Leader for said Pokémon gym. She wouldn't give me the heads-up on what Pokémon she brought with her to Quicksilver when we spoke on the yacht—in fact, she didn't tell me much of anything—but now she accepts my offer for help. After all, she brought four bags to keep her a half week and she's a rather small person.

She strikes me as high maintenance, not someone I'd pursue long-term, but she's gorgeous and I admit that attracts me right off. She's not tall—maybe five-one—and is normal sized—not too skinny but far from fat. Her long, flowing, auburn hair glows in the sunlight; she's got two hair ties on either side of her head to separate her hair into two tails. She's wearing a yellow sundress with strappy shoulders that leave her shoulders bare; her skin is perfect and highly desirable. I can smell the oils and lotions she uses to keep herself looking like she's sixteen.

The rest of the dress is equally alluring as her shoulders. The dress is cut low enough to give a peek at what Deborah has to hide but not enough to give away the surprise. Her chest is fairly large for her body size, possibly enhanced through cosmetics. The dress ends less than halfway down her thigh, allowing anyone a glance at her bare legs—even more desirable, if it's possible, than her shoulders.

I notice everything about her she clearly wants people to notice, but I make prolonged contact only with her eyes.

"You planning to stay a while?" I ask her in reference to her numerous bags.

She gives me a friendly smile and says cheerfully, "I like to be prepared. You never know what can come up on a tropical island like this."

I suppose she has a fair point. Then again, I spent a day researching the climate, the terrain, and the weather patterns of everything west of Quicksilver as far as the mainland. I feel pretty confident we have only clear skies and high temperatures ahead of us for this week, with the exception of a three-hour storm I predict for Tuesday afternoon. Meteorology is not my specialty, but I know how to read a Doppler radar.

We get to the front desk inside the mansion, which is set up uncannily like a hotel, and the clerk gives us room keys and maps. (I'm obviously not the only person who thinks the floor plans here would bewilder a homing pidgey.) The clerk also gives us instructions to gather in the dining hall at six o'clock for an orientation supper and detailed description of the tournament ahead of us.

"You can drop those there," Deborah tells me at the front desk. "I'll get a bellhop to carry them for me."

"Nonsense," I reply. I carried her two biggest bags here from the dock already; a little farther was a small request. I even grab a third bag of hers with my index and middle finger on my left hand, leaving her responsible for only the smallest one. Her smile turns from one of friendly appreciation to one of sultry appreciation.

"Follow me," she says and waves a single finger. I do so without question. Carrying her three bags in my arms and my bag over my shoulders, we make our way up one flight of velvet-lined stairs and down two hallways wide enough for planes to taxi until we reach the guest residences. I wait while Deborah puts down her bag and fumbles through her purse for her room key the clerk handed her only three minutes ago. I notice her Pokéballs in her purse, too; she has one basic Pokéball, one Safari Ball, and one Ultra Ball. The Pokéball and the Ultra Ball don't narrow down her selection for me at all, but the Safari Zone is home to only so many Pokémon. I try to imagine Deborah with a scyther, but the image just doesn't stick—she's too soft to raise a Pokémon so dangerous.

She finally gets the door open and invites me inside. Her room is like a hotel suite. She has a seventy-two-inch television screen sitting within a massive entertainment unit that contains all the accoutrements for a killer Superbowl party; three very large and fancy seats including a four-person couch, a two-person loveseat, and a reclining chair; a beautiful oak desk; and a matching coffee table. And there's still room to park those planes that taxi down the halls.

"This place is amazing!" Deborah says excitedly. She smiles brightly and has trouble hiding her sorority-like giddiness in response to her luxurious digs, but she tries. She very quickly catches herself and puts on a calmer, more serious reaction; I think she wants to impress me. "You can drop those in the bedroom," she says and leads me to the next room. The bedroom has a Jacuzzi tub in the floor; a second, thirty-two-inch television; four beautiful dressers each with four oversized drawers; and a queen-sized bed. I see a bathroom off to the side with an enormous and elaborate vanity and a fancy shower stall constructed immaculately from marble. From one look, I imagine most guests are reluctant to leave a place like this.

I place Deborah's bags carefully next to the dressers by the door and readjust my own bag to prevent a muscle cramp in my shoulder. Deborah practically corners me next to the dressers; her gaze starts at my waist and slowly travels up until she meets my eyes.

"Thanks for your help," she says softly.

"Glad to be here."

She takes a step closer and lightly presses her hand against my stomach. "You know… we've got a half hour to kill before we need to get ready for that big dinner."

Thirty minutes? If that's all she needs, she's in a different class from the other women I've dated. I consider her proposal for about two seconds before I stroke her hair aside and lean in to kiss her. Something in her eyes tells me she's not usually this forward. I'm not sure what she hopes to gain from this behavior. Maybe she just wants to weasel out of me what Pokémon I brought with me for the tournament, and it doesn't take a lot of creativity for a woman who looks like that to get what she wants from a guy. The irony is I would have told her if she just asked me. I've changed my mind about that now.

Thirty minutes go by too quickly—they always do. Deborah's touch is tender and graceful like a princess, and her skin is silky to the touch. I hate for it to end.

When she finally brings up my choice of Pokémon for this trip, I realize she's easy to read and I was correct about the catalyst for this little workout. I consider holding out on the information, but I figure she earned it. She seems surprised and slightly disgusted when I mention scyther as my favorite choice, and she reacts when I mention jolteon. She's careful not to give much away—she'd be a good Poker player—but I start piecing things together in my head.

She has a Safari Ball, meaning she's been to the Safari Zone. Judging from the location of her home and the fact that she claims not to travel a lot, I guess she got it from the Safari Zone in Kanto, the same place I got mine. There are seventeen species of Pokémon there, and she very obviously doesn't appreciate scyther—perhaps that's true of all bugs. If I'm right, then four species of Pokémon are off the list. I start making assumptions in my head based on her work, and I assume her Safari Ball is home to a normal-type. Based on what I know of her now, like the fact that she's interested in appearances, I jump to the conclusion that she has a chansey.

Given the way she reacted when I mentioned jolteon, I wonder if her Pokéball holds an evolution of eevee. Eevee is named such because it can evolve at least nine different ways according to Dad's stories. He chose to evolve Sundance—named because Dad was a Robert Redford fan—into jolteon because as an eevee, Sundance had such an electric personality. Dad had a bit of an electric personality, too, and they say Pokémon begin to act like their masters after a while. Using that as a basis for hypothesis, I try to compare Deborah to eevee. She's pretty bubbly on the surface—she might have vaporeon—but I also noticed during that half hour that she's got a bit of a dark side—something she tries to hide. It's possible that she kept eevee because it is also a normal-type, but I make another leap of faith and guess she has umbreon—an eevee evolved in the moonlight.

But then, I could be way off. I know a little psychology, but that certainly doesn't make me psychic or clairvoyant.

When she asks about my third Pokémon, I finally get stingy. Maybe I can get a repeat performance from her if I still have something she wants. I feel a little guilty about using her like that, but my guilt is appeased when I remind myself that she's just using me, too. She smiles flirtatiously at my sudden reluctance to divulge, but her eyes tell me she knows why I'm doing it. The fact that she's smiling tells me that she's okay with my decision; maybe she likes me. She tells me we should get together again after midnight. I'm curious why so late, but I accept her invitation. For now I head to my room to unpack and dress appropriately for our fancy orientation dinner.

My room is down the hall and around the corner from Deborah's room. I count the rooms on the way and see that four people have rooms between mine and Deborah's, not counting rooms on the opposite side of the hall. I mark her room on my map and unpack my clothes—that's almost all I brought aside from basic toiletries. I look at the one dress shirt I brought and decide it's not worth ironing it before supper. I put it on and tuck it into my khaki pants. A black tie complements the blue shirt well enough for me. Only my shoes don't match—I wear white tennis shoes not as a fashion statement, but because I hate dress shoes and I figure no one will really care, anyway. As far as the shirt goes, the only creases are in the stomach and the sleeves, but they become much less obvious when my shirt is tucked in and I doubt it's all that noticeable. The high temperature almost makes me question my attire, but I'm actually more functional with high temperatures than I am with low temperatures.

Satisfied that I look okay, I head out to the dining hall. Before I do, however, I decide to spend a moment standing at the junction of the two hallways and note which rooms everyone comes from. I hold my map in front of me to mark each person's room. As an added bonus, no one seems to know what I am doing, but rather thinks I'm lost; when they offer help, I respectfully decline and tell them I'm just studying the map for a few minutes before dinner. I only have trouble distinguishing Geoff's room from Bernie's room because they both come from the same room, but at least I know which two belong to them, and I don't really need more detail than that. The only people I never see leave their rooms are Deborah, Remy, Timothy, and Shawn. I note the possible locations of the latter three and take off to be the last one to arrive in the dining hall. The four who never left their rooms are already seated when I get there—I just missed them earlier.

I am the best-dressed of the group. Everyone else is wearing very casual clothing ranging from T-shirts and jean shorts to skirts and tank tops. I feel a little like I'm in one of my classrooms, except now everyone looks at me like I'm an overachiever instead of the guy who knows what will be on the test.

Before any food is provided, our attention is drawn to the small stage at the end of the room. That's where a man dressed in a two-thousand-dollar suit begins speaking to us on behalf of the man who invited us to this tournament. He's a very tall, rather lean and well built man, a lot like how everyone looks in the movies after they've been stranded on an island for a while, although he's missing the full, coarse beard.

"Good evening, Pokémon masters," he starts his speech. I disapprove of the term. To this point, I hadn't questioned my invitation much, but I am a far cry from a master, and so I begin to wonder if they weren't confusing me with someone else. The man continues, "I am Kyle Mayhan, manager of this tournament and spokesman for Professor Zamia himself. He extends his deepest apologies for being unable to attend at this time, but he offers his mansion up for the duration of the tournament. Please feel at home here, and if there is ever anything you desire, just ask one of our servants and your wish will be granted.

"I wish to inform you all that this will not be a typical Pokémon tournament. The instructions change with every match, so be sure to pay close attention to your wake-up calls each morning. Every battle is scrutinized and scored such that a loss does not preclude your progress through the tournament, but you will instead be ranked on a point system. There is an explanation in your guidebooks, and it will make more sense when the tournament begins tomorrow. Tonight is yours to do as you wish, but please do not leave the mansion grounds. Now enjoy the feast and relax in preparation of the games."

Now they bring us a wide variety of foods from across the globe. I'm personally a fan of the steak—it's juicy and perfectly prepared, and every bite is a sensual experience for my tongue, but that could be leftover endorphins from earlier. The wine, especially complementary of the food, is available to everyone except the twelve-year-old boy Timmy and the nineteen-year-old boy Fell; they have sodas instead.

The conversation around the table varies by subgroup. Timmy speaks with Lisa and Victor about what it's like to win prestigious tournaments at such a young age. Deborah talks up Geoff and Bernie the same way she did me, although without making more contact than a simple finger stroke on the forearm. I wonder if she reads them as well as I do, that she could probably get whatever she wants from them if she just lets them get to first base. Emily and Sunday look almost like they are competing with one another for Anfernee's attention, and Anfernee keeps egging them on despite the fact that Sunday is much older than he is. I can't really hear Fell, Remy, Omar, and Olivia at this distance and I'm not too good at reading lips; all I can make out is: I'm pretty sure they're speaking English. I choose not to engage actively in any conversation, but rather I listen to all conversations to pick out clues about everyone else's personalities.

Timmy mentions he likes Pokémon who are tough, even if they aren't cute; Victor agrees with him, but Lisa remains silent on the matter. Bernie confesses with Breloom, and Geoff tries to trump him by claiming Breloom's attack power doesn't match Weezing's defensive strength. Anfernee mentions Monfernape as his only unevolved Pokémon, evoking Metagross from Sunday while Emily holds her tongue and doesn't let her secrets slip. As I write little notes on my map, I realize that Shawn and Jess aren't here anymore; I lost track of them already. I throw simple, flirtatious comments toward Emily and Sunday once in a while to draw some attention to myself just because I can't help it sometimes. That little part of me that thinks about women all the time hopes they will think about _me_ all the time, and so I flirt. The effort seems unnecessary with Deborah, who occasionally glances my way as if to cry for protection from Bernie and Geoff's nerd talk.

By the time supper is finished, I have figured out thirteen of the sixty potential opponents for Musashi and Sundance to face. For no one did I figure out all three Pokémon; it seems like everyone guards that information as closely as I do now. It makes me wonder if they all own legendary Pokémon, too. Ultimately, I don't really care. I think Musashi is skilled enough to take on just about anybody.

It's only seven-thirty, and I'm not sure how to kill the next four and a half hours before I sneak back to Deborah's room. (It strikes me as a little odd that I'm at a Pokémon tournament and more interested in Deborah than the tournament until I remember that it's been two years since my last serious girlfriend and Deborah is very, very hot.) After a few minutes of sorting through alternatives, I realize the weather here is much nicer than back home. Even in the night air—which is considerably cooler than when the sun shines brightly on the island—the temperature is still quite pleasant. I decide to change into swim trunks and go outside for a dip in the pool, which I find is the same surface area as my entire apartment back home.

Swimming turns out to be a great idea—the water is a whopping thirty degrees Celsius, or eighty-six degrees Fahrenheit for those who prefer it. I spend an hour just swimming laps around the water's edge. That's about the time I'm joined by Sunday, a forty-two-year-old psychologist from Mauville City in the Hoenn region. She participated in the Elite Four Tournament a few years back and finished in the top ten, but she has since been all but forgotten in the world of Pokémon training. She was surprised to receive an invitation for this tournament because the most recent thing she completed was first prize in a local tournament in Mauville. It's possible her local victory sparked reminders of her glory days from when she was younger.

Sunday is five-foot-eight and very skinny—I estimate 130 pounds or so just based on her height and girth. But she slouches, and so she may actually be a little taller. Sunday doesn't seem too obsessed with her appearance at first, but her hair is multiple colors; her normally black hair is streaked with pink highlights, suggesting that she may be experiencing an early mid-life crisis. At dinner, she also wore more earrings and studs in her ears than I could count.

The most curious thing I remember about meeting her on the _Hydrargyrum_ was that she insisted I call her "Lady" Sunday. I think she has some kind of thing about titles of nobility, whether earned through marriage or through ego. It's definitely the first time I met someone like that, although I did have a student once who wanted me to call him "Wolf" because that was his street name. Then again, if I were named for a day of the week, I'd probably want a nickname, too; I like to think I'd be less smug about it, though. I remember the royal blue dress Sunday wore to dinner, which supported her noble appearance.

In the present, Sunday wears a royal blue bikini with rhinestone studs on it. The rhinestones seem counterproductive on a swimsuit in my opinion, but at least she looks good in it. Her belly is tight, though she has a negligible amount of cellulite in her legs. I don't find myself attracted to her in the same way as Deborah. I'd like to think it's not because of her smaller chest or her age; she just doesn't appeal to me. But I must admit that for a forty-two-year-old, she looks like she's no older than twenty-five. Maybe I was wrong about her concern for appearance after all.

Sunday is a very introverted person, made obvious by her instantly acting surprised to see me out here. Outwardly she seems polite—she apologizes for disturbing me—but her tone of voice and a quick flash of disappointment in her face suggests she's being condescending through the apology.

"You're not disturbing me," I assure her. "In fact, I was just getting bored."

"Then allow me to keep you company," she says as she dips her foot in the pool. She hums softly and comments how nice the water feels, then slips right in. Considering she just looked upset to see me, this pleasant behavior is a rapid change; already she reveals herself to be a complex woman. "How long have you been out here?"

"About an hour," I reply.

"Did you come here right after dinner? Aren't you supposed to wait an hour, first?"

I laugh and tell her, "That's mostly old wives' tale." Actually, that was a Freudian slip; I feel guilty about using that phrase around Sunday, so I quickly stammer on to explain, "The theory is that digestion takes oxygen away from your muscles and can cause cramps. Not only is that an exaggeration because the body produces plenty of oxygen for swimming, but I also don't cramp easily."

"Thanks for the tip. You must be tougher than any man I know," she says, then elaborates by telling me every man she knows who contracts a cramp in the pool turns instantly into a baby. I laugh, but it's more because I'm uncomfortable around most women and feel the need to flirt with every one of them as a defense mechanism. "What brought you to the pool?"

"I'm a swimmer," I tell her. "I teach math and science, but I also coach baseball and I'm basically an exercise freak. Swimming is my second favorite way to stay in shape, and the Jacuzzi in my room just isn't big enough for laps."

"Mmm. I prefer to run mostly, but I do enjoy a good swim once in a while."

"Is that what brought you out here?"

She shakes her head and tells me, "I merely wanted to step away from the other trainers for a time." She chuckles at me and clarifies that she's okay with me being here with her. "Everyone tries to discover one another's Pokémon as if knowing what your opponent holds will guarantee you a victory."

"It gives you a slight advantage," I suggest. Honestly, I'm not sure how true that is. I haven't come across a Pokémon yet that Musashi couldn't eventually defeat thanks to his nitojutsu training. All that agility training and sword fighting makes him a tough customer.

"Yes, _slight_," she repeats with emphasis. "The intensity with which Emily and Anfernee are debating, one might think knowing the opponent's lineup is a _guaranteed_ win. That redhead Deborah even discussed with Emily Bernie's Pokémon as a trade for whatever Emily knew about my and Anfernee's Pokémon."

That answered one question for me. Information was like currency in a tournament setting. I may have been the only participant naïve enough to think half the excitement was finding out what your opponent would throw at you next. Everyone else knew that knowing your opponent gives you the edge. (I knew that regarding swordplay, but I guess it slipped my mind regarding Pokémon battles.) That's why Deborah was so eager to know who I brought with me. I begin piecing together in my head that she's not likely to repeat with anyone else the hospitality she showed me—she has my information already to use as a bargaining chip against further information, and unlike real money, she doesn't lose information with every exchange. She carries that same information to multiple people and gets just as much out of it each time, building her own information base in the process while simultaneously keeping everyone else at a clear disadvantage; no matter how much information everyone else gathers from her about the other participant, they will never know what she has.

"I guess that means everyone on the island knows about my Pokémon already," I conclude out loud.

Sunday smiles at me coyly. "Why did you tell Deborah, anyway?"

I shrug and conceal the truth from her to avoid being judged for taking advantage of the situation in a moment of weak constitution; I also like the idea of _that_ information _not_ spreading. "She asked me," I say, "and I guess I don't have enough experience to realize what kind of disadvantage that gives me." At least nothing I said in that answer was a lie.

Sunday scoffs amusedly. "You should still be okay if your Pokémon are strong. Knowing what your opponent has only gives an advantage to a point. After that, it's all personal strength, coaching, and type-matching." That's true. At some point, sheer mettle becomes the true trump card in a match. I have faith enough in Musashi, Sundance, and Ra that I would readily pit them against any opponent. I tell Sunday the same except that I never mention Ra to her. As far as I know, the only people who know about Ra are the organizers of the tournament who had me register my Pokémon.

I spend another thirty minutes in the pool with Sunday talking about life back home—I tell her some of my funny stories about my students over the years—when I decide to get out of the pool before my skin shrivels much more. She climbs out of the pool with me and makes a point to stretch her body while she dries herself off. I'm not certain about it, but I'd bet she's flirting with me. Maybe chicks really _do_ dig scars. Or she really is having a mid-life crisis and flirting with a younger man makes her feel pretty.

"Good night," she says seductively. "I'll see you in the morning."

On my way back to my room wearing my swim trunks and a sleeveless workout shirt, I notice Lisa inside the mansion's weight room, which is located almost directly beside the back door that goes to the pool. She's using the isolateral chest press machine. I look at my watch to find the big hand on the three and the little hand on the nine. With still too much time to kill, I enter the weight room and figure to try for another association.

"Hi, Lisa."

She simply nods in my direction until she finishes her set. Then she takes a few deep breaths, drinks from her water bottle, and then finally greets me somewhat curtly.

Lisa is a twenty-eight-year-old woman who is an active, traveling Pokémon trainer. She travels across countries to collect and train a wide variety of Pokémon. When I met her on the yacht, she admitted to me that she has collected more than twenty-four Pokémon Gym badges. As impressive as that sounds to me by simple number, I really have no basis for comparison except to know that she even received a badge from Dad's old gym, even though it was after his heart attack.

I find it hard not to admire Lisa's body when she lifts. She's about five-five and probably weighs 140 pounds, estimating from her slender and muscular build. It seems almost like she has no body fat, holding herself together exclusively by lean muscle tissue. But her muscular appearance is probably lost on an untrained eye; she doesn't look like female bodybuilders or like she's on steroids, but rather like a lean, slender woman. Her skin isn't tight on her arms when she's at rest—only when she's lifting.

Lisa's workout attire alone can catch someone's eye. Her jet black hair, which normally falls just past her shoulders, is pulled into a ponytail. Her tanned complexion disappears beneath the sleeveless, black sports bra—it doesn't reveal any cleavage, but it can't hide the size and shape of her well sculpted chest, either. Her midsection is bare, revealing an abdomen even comparable to my own. Her shorts that match her bra are tight and end just after the quadriceps emerge from her hips. Her legs are bigger and much more solid than Deborah's. The lean form of her beautiful legs tells me she's also a runner and not just a lifter.

"You aren't trying to trade information and figure out what Pokémon everyone brought with them?" I ask her.

"Don't bother," she tells me, probably under the mistaken assumption that I was in here to weasel that information from her. "I'm not telling anyone who I brought and I don't care who you brought. Pokémon battles aren't nearly as much fun if you know what's coming."

It shocks me a little to hear that from someone who is rated a Pokémon Master, but I think it probably speaks to her personality. I also noticed that she referred to her Pokémon as "who" instead of "what," something I used to think was ridiculous until fairly recently. She hasn't said much and already she has me intrigued.

"I agree with you," I tell her. "I just thought I would come in and say hi. Get to know you a little bit maybe."

She starts lifting another set while she responds to me. "Why? You think my personality and behavior can tell you how I train Pokémon?"

"Absolutely it can," I reply, "but I honestly don't care about your Pokémon. I just want to get to know you. Isn't meeting people the other half of the fun of a tournament?"

When she finishes this set, she sits for a moment and stares at me. She's trying to figure out what my angle is, but anything she comes up with will be false: I sincerely care more about knowing _her_ than I care about playing the puzzle game with figuring out Pokémon. (I know I played that game with Deborah, but she started it.)

"You really aren't trying to analyze me?" she asks me.

I tilt my back and say, "Well… It is an analysis of _some_ kind. I judge you, you judge me…"

Now she smiles at me; it's a knee-weakening image. "I get it now," she says, now aware of us not as two Pokémon trainers but as a man and a woman. She stands from the chest press and motions toward it with her hand. "Come on, Scarface. Let's see what you've got." Following her insistence, I load a forty-five pound plate on either side of the machine. I do a quick set of ten repetitions at this weight, approximately equivalent to lifting 115 pounds.

"That's all you've got?" she mocks.

"Give me a minute," I say. "I just want to warm up." Now I tack on another forty-five pound plate to either side, approximately equal to lifting 205 pounds. This set is significantly heavier, but I manage to squeeze out six repetitions before I have to stop. A guy with my muscle definition should be able to lift more, but for a guy with my bulk, it's a respectable number. I might be able to make the case that two hours of swimming weakened me to some degree, but that would present me as a sore loser—I decide to leave it how it is and see Lisa's reaction.

She hums and says, "Okay. You're about as strong as you look. I thought you might be one of those guys who's just lucky his biology lined up to give him the perfect body."

I grin, now remembering that I'm not wearing much, and ask her, "You think I have a perfect body?"

Suddenly Lisa's face turns bright red and I realize she's not as careful and guarded as she tries to be. The irony is she's got a killer body herself. Her chest is not as large as Deborah's, but still impressive, and the rest of Lisa's body is perfectly taut and appropriately curved in all the right places. She seems more natural and a little more perfect than Deborah.

She looks away and says, "You want to hang out? Come give me a spot on the military press."

While I spot her on the military press, Lisa tells me about her workout routine. Assuming her description is accurate and not an exaggeration, she is physically stronger and in better shape than any woman I've ever met—maybe even better than I am. She says she lifts weights at least four times a week when she has access to a gym and engages in cardiovascular training every day she doesn't lift—being on the road in travel often leaves her without a gym and that's why she chooses to lift so rigorously when she can. She tells me the exercises she already completed before I came in, including inclined bench presses.

"Presses are dangerous without a spotter," I point out to her.

Appropriately, she reacts with a very sarcastic, "Duh." That got me thinking about her situation—she probably used her Pokémon as spotters most of the time. If I'm right, then she might have brought fighting types with her, or at least something big and strong. Judging from her body shape, though, I'm definitely leaning toward fighters. But… I really don't care; I'd rather stare at her than her Pokémon.

"Hang on a second," she tells me and stands beside the military press. She starts pulling on her left shoulder like she's trying to stretch the muscle by hand. On a whim, I put my hands on her back and start to rub her shoulder for her. She jumps away and gives me a look that makes her suspicions quite obvious, but I assure her I was only offering an extra set of hands—very talented hands, I add, that have dealt with a number of cramps and pulled muscles during baseball season. She grudgingly stands still while I position my left arm around hers for support and start pressing into her shoulder with my right hand. I can see her cheeks enough to know she's still blushing, but a moment later she also exhales fully, a sign that a large amount of tension was just relieved. I let go and she starts shaking her shoulder, seemingly pleased with the result.

It takes her a long time to say just, "Thanks." She was still waiting for my big move, unable to believe I was just trying to be a nice guy.

"Come on," I tell her and pat the seat on the military press. "You still have two more sets."

Watching Lisa lift gets me a little excited about being in the gym again and I take a few sets of each exercise between hers. All in all, we end up staying in the gym until ten-thirty, a two-hour workout for her. Now I feel pretty tired and sore, and I still have an hour and a half to kill. Lisa decides it's time for bed. I walk her back to her room and get a goodnight handshake at her door. Not exactly a fair trade for a shoulder massage, but I'll live.

I go back to my room and decide that while I'm already hot and sweaty, I'll finish off my training regimen. I remove from the dresser the two short swords I opted to hide in the room and begin performing the swords dance, a series of coordinated maneuvers that strengthen the body and improve flexibility as I combat imaginary opponents. It is a series of movements my grandfather and I put together from watching the behavior of my scyther.

I finish practicing just before midnight and take a quick shower to clean up. I spend several minutes considering what to do next—so many options and potential decisions lay in front of me now. I judge myself a little when I find myself outside Deborah's door thinking about Lisa. Just because the option is there and I feel foolish to pass it up, I knock softly on Deborah's door at twelve-oh-six. She opens the door wearing a white nightgown that does amazing justice to her figure.

I ask her, "Any chance we can just talk?"

She ushers me in by simply waving one finger and shuts the door behind me. When she realizes I'm serious, she puts a robe on—which I admit kills me just a little—and we just talk and get to know one another some. Actually, _she_ gets to know _me_. I don't think two words she said to me were true. She's even more careful with her words than I realized earlier.

It's just as well that I figure out now how unlikely it is for any actual connection to develop between me and Deborah. There are moments she seems interested in me, but then she closes off any time she talks about herself. She definitely has something to hide. The conversation simply serves to turn me off of her and return my thoughts to Lisa. I leave the room before the clock hits one and return to my room to get some sleep.

* * *

_This chapter is mostly intended to show some of Jin's thought processes, introduce a few of the female contestants (I remind you that character importance comes from Jin's perspective), and establish one of the two main themes of noir-style narration. I read the rating guidelines carefully and came to the conclusion that this chapter is quite subtle enough to maintain a T rating. If anyone disagrees with me, however, let me know and I will likely change it. I am not sure yet whether the violence I have planned for later will require the M rating. I would like to keep the T rating as long as I can._

_The next chapter will begin with the first round of Pokémon battles. I'll introduce a few more characters and demonstrate for you a few of the ways I attempt to reconcile the physical impossibilities of the Pokémon world with one closer to our own (e.g., spontaneous creation of matter for so many attacks). Obviously, pure physics is going to be difficult, but I have a few ideas to describe Pokémon biology in such a way to explain their abilities. I think the healing process (i.e., 'Nurse Joy' and the like) may have to be exaggerated lest the Pokémon not be able to battle twice._

_As an aside to sunshine5991, I accepted Emily you submitted, but you disabled the messaging option and so I couldn't contact you about the character._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	3. A Round of Underdogs

**A Round of Underdogs**

The phone rings at seven o'clock, but by then I've already been up for an hour. The female voice on the other end of the line tells me today's round of the tournament will be one-on-one matches with a Pokémon randomly selected by the registration system when the match begins. It might force me to reveal my third Pokémon, but I already told Deborah about Ra—I expect everyone will know before too long as she brags to everyone about my big trump card.

I put on a pair of khaki pants and a red polo shirt—a reasonably dressed-up appearance that's probably cool enough for a morning in the sun—then head out to the tournament grounds before anyone else even gets out of bed. The arena they've set up for the tournament is about forty square-yards—just long enough to let the big Pokémon go at it freely while the little Pokémon stay within range of hearing their trainers' commands. I seriously consider summoning my Pokémon to examine the grounds before the tournament gets started, but the aides ask me not to. I'm not really sure why, but I can respect their wishes and the hard work I'm sure the groundskeepers put into the field.

Lisa is the first of the trainers to arrive, much to my delight. She's wearing a white, spaghetti-strap tank top, with her black sports bra visible underneath, and black short shorts, which I really appreciate because her legs are like works of art. She laughs when she sees me and tells me I'm going to regret dressing the way I did. She thinks the heat will overwhelm me.

"I thought it would be more appropriate to the tournament if I dressed at least semi-formally," I tell her.

"You didn't figure out last night at dinner that no one cares how you dress here?"

I smile coyly at her and ask, "You noticed how I dressed last night?"

She scoffs as if to tell me I'm an idiot and says, "Everyone noticed. You were the only idiot wearing a shirt and tie in the heat." She _says_ that, but she blushed in response to my query. There's some obvious electricity between us.

"Do you feel sore at all from last night's workout?" I ask her.

"The day after isn't the problem. _Tomorrow_ is when it'll hit me. I'm not even going to ask if you're okay because you didn't do half the work I did." She stretches her shoulders and flexes, then lets out a grunt and says she's ready to get started. "It doesn't matter who their machine picks out, my Pokémon will win today's match."

"I'm sure you're right," I tell her. "Unless you're up against me."

She grins. "Look, you probably have some skill to get here, but there's nothing you can bring that I can't handle. You're looking at the tournament champion right here."

I simply smile at her. "Well, Champ. You have any tips for a guy who's never been in an official Pokémon tournament before?"

"That can't possibly be true about you," she tells me without missing a beat. She probably thought I was kidding, but when she looks into my eyes, she seems to freeze. Suddenly her expression goes from excitement to astonishment—she obviously believes me. "How did you get invited here if you've never even been in a tournament before?" How often I've asked myself that same question since receiving the invitation. I finally tell her that maybe it was my participation in a martial arts tournament that got me the invitation—my synchronization with my Pokémon might be an indicator of my potential that someone else wants to test.

"I don't have any real tips for you," she finally says. "Just that everyone here—in theory, anyway—is a very experienced trainer, so you shouldn't underestimate anybody. _Especially you_ shouldn't underestimate anybody."

"Duly noted," I reply.

Timmy shows up next—we still have twenty minutes before the tournament round will officially start. He's a small twelve-year-old who, although not as disciplined as Lisa, is pretty well disciplined to get up at such an hour without much complaint. He's wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt with pictures of the Sinnoh Elite Four printed on it.

He aspires to living a life much like Lisa's, traveling from place to place to build a Pokémon collection, but he's not old enough to go by himself just yet. He lives in Floaroma Town in the Sinnoh Region with his parents and grandmother. They were so excited to let him join this tournament but they were scared to death of letting him go without a chaperone. Apparently the scout who signed Timmy for this tournament promised to keep an eye on him, yet Timmy hasn't seen him since he got on the yacht. The news is a little distressing to me, but Timmy seems old enough to take care of himself for a few days, especially when he's got a schedule and his food is provided for him.

"Hey, Big Guy," I say when I realize he's too shy to approach.

He only offers a curt wave. Lisa laughs and urges him to come closer. It doesn't take much observational skill to see that Timmy is extremely shy. I guess he's better with people his own age, or at least _closer_ to his age, but he seems to have taken a liking to Lisa. He'll talk to her even if he's too shy to talk to me. My first guess is that he's already at that age where he recognizes a pretty lady, but it could be that he started to feel comfortable with her at dinner.

"Are you excited about the tournament?" she asks him.

"Yeah," he says simply. I half expected a kid with his record to be one of those who act more grown-up than they are, but this kid sounds and speaks like a regular, shy twelve-year-old. He really is a kid participating in a grown-up activity.

"Did you get a chance to talk to any of the other trainers?" I ask him, softening my voice and hunching a little to seem less threatening, not that I'm all that threatening to begin with. "I know everyone is real interested in you seeing as you're so much younger than they are. You must be a really good trainer."

He doesn't answer me. He just peers up at me and steps away as if to hide behind Lisa. She giggles and tells him, "You don't need to be afraid. Jin only _looks_ scary." She looks at me and admits, "Your scar does make you look kind of dangerous." She looks back at Timmy and suggests, "But even if he looks like a bad guy, he dresses like a good guy, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Timmy suggests softly. "It's probably hot." I smile at that comment.

I'm not really experienced with kids at that age—I teach college classes, after all—but I try to come up with ways to make Timmy think of me as a safety net. The idea of a twelve-year-old on this island with only one or two friends makes me as nervous as I'm sure it would make his parents. A part of me doesn't really care because a twelve-year-old ought to be smart enough to take care of himself for a few days, but a small part of me also wants Lisa to think I like kids.

"Hey, Timmy. Do you know what pikachu's favorite candy is?" He quietly shakes his head. "Shock-tarts." Lisa giggles beautifully, and that prompts Timmy to smile. I figure I'll try another. "How do you get fifty blastoise on a bus? You poke-'em-on." Finally he chuckles out loud. "How many slowpokes does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, but it takes a few hours."

Lisa shakes her head and tells me, "You're such a dork."

"You want one more?" I ask Timmy. He nods vigorously. "What does a constipated Pokémon take?" I pause for emphasis. "Snor-lax."

Lisa scoffs and makes a face. "That's gross. Don't spoil him like that."

"Hey, Timmy. What Pokémon best describes Lisa right now? Krabby!" Ever get on a roll and find it hard to stop yourself from making bad jokes? Well, bad jokes seem to be my forte when it comes to being funny. Every now and then I get in a good sarcastic comment.

"I like the 'shock-tarts' joke," Timmy says. I tell him that was my favorite, too. And now I'm out of material. What else am I supposed to say to a twelve-year-old? "I'm a little scared about this tournament," he admits to us. Okay, I wasn't actually expecting the conversation to go there from bad Pokémon jokes.

"Why are you scared?" I ask.

"Because I don't know anyone here and they'll probably be mean."

I look at Lisa, whose expression tells me she thinks the kid is right. There are a lot of trainers out there who can be incredibly competitive, and that competitive streak can make them get very intense during a combat situation. I've seen it many times before, the most recent instance coming moments before I lost a lot of blood from my left cheek. I should probably leave that part out if I'm going to cheer the kid up.

I kneel down in front of him and say, "Look, sport. The people here won't be mean to you. They only want to know if their Pokémon are stronger than yours. I heard that your Pokémon are really strong and tough. Is that true?"

"Yeah. My Pokémon are stronger than all the Pokémon people back home have."

"Good. Then just do here exactly what you do at home and no one will beat you."

Timmy smiles at me and excitedly says, "Okay!"

Well, that was easy. If only college students were that quick to hear what I say.

Mayhan shows up and begins to herd all the present trainers to the duel grounds. He repeats for us the information provided in the wakeup call—this round is one-on-one between randomly selected Pokémon from our lineups. He shows us the computer that will determine the order of the matches and select the participants, as well as record the progress and all the necessary statistics from the matches. He also tells us that Round 1 should conclude around lunchtime, when we'll break for lunch and a little leisure time, and then we'll all reconvene this evening for Round 2 with a different Pokémon each. That means whoever I summon first will at least get the afternoon off.

I'm not very surprised when Deborah shows up without saying anything to me. She's wearing another sundress, this time a blue one with a large, billowy skirt and a zipper up the back. I gently raise my hand to my brow as if to tip my hat to her, but her only reaction is to smile and nod at me. That was pretty conclusive evidence that she didn't have any feelings for me deeper than a desire for knowledge. I'm okay with it, though—she was just a way to satisfy one of my three basic needs, plus I have little interest in women who lie to me.

I'm more interested in the tournament right now, anyway. My own competitive edge is beginning to show and I'm excited to see how I'll fare in these games. Mayhan draws our attention to the computer and steps away as if to signal he can't tamper with it because he's not close enough.

"And the first match-up is…" he says in anticipation. The computer beeps and shows my image with a picture of Musashi next to my face. "Jin's scyther versus Olivia's dragonite."

Olivia is the oldest female participant in this tournament. She's just taller than five feet and terribly skinny. I'm inclined to believe she eats well as I recall her eating quite a bit last night at the banquet, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me she was bulimic. That'd be a real shame, too; she's otherwise a perfectly attractive woman with striking gray eyes and pretty red hair. She's wearing a white T-shirt with a restaurant logo on it; I can see through the shirt enough to see the one-piece swimsuit she's wearing in preparation of the end of round one.

I don't know a lot about Olivia for certain except that she's from Sandgem City in the Sinnoh region. She's pretty quiet, but not because she's shy like Timmy; she seems almost upset most of the time. She's polite enough when she speaks and she doesn't really do anything negative, but the way her pursed lips act as her default expression makes me think she doesn't really like to spend much time with other people. Or I suppose it's possible that she's feeling somewhat sick and is just upset that she couldn't be here under better circumstances. Or maybe it's that time of the month. I don't really care. All I know is that this will be a really tough match for Musashi.

"Pardon me," I say to Mayhan as a curious statistician. I point to the computer screen beneath the pictures of me and Olivia where it shows the phrase _1:123_. "What are these numbers?"

Mayhan smiles at me harmlessly, but his eyes laugh mockingly. "Those are the odds the computer calculated for the match."

I was afraid of that. The odds don't affect my confidence, but it's pretty insulting to be told the odds against you are in excess of a hundred to one, especially seeing as the computer knows nothing about Musashi as an individual.

"Is there a bookie here?" Bernie asks. "I think we got easy money here." He looks at me and asks if I can cover the bets.

"Not on a teacher's salary," I reply. Statistically speaking, it's stupid of me even to consider betting on Musashi because the odds are so vastly against me. But I'm a little offended that the odds makers would put Musashi at such a disadvantage because I think he can win, even against a big, thick-skinned reptile like a dragonite. "I can put ten bucks on Musashi. Scyther, that is."

"I'm afraid competitors will not be allowed to wager on the results," Mayhan tells us. I understand what he's saying as he describes the reasoning. How easy would it be for Olivia to bet a c-note on my victory, throw the match, and earn a quick and easy fifteen thousand dollars? Betting ten thousand dollars would earn her more than the tournament prize money. Even the other competitors are barred from making wagers because there could easily be collusion between us to earn said amounts of money.

I summon Musashi to the Pokémon arena and tell him what's going on. Olivia summons her dragonite—named Gandora—and lets it fly around to warm up. Musashi is almost five feet tall and weighs 125 pounds. Scythers are green, human-shaped mantises with blades embedded in their arms and a couple of cream-colored wings on their backs. Compare that to Gandora at seven feet tall and 450 pounds. Dragonites are beige, human-shaped dragons with enormous, rounded arms and legs, a tail, and two large wings on their backs connected from the shoulders to the hips. They aren't particularly large creatures considering all the legends about massive dragons, but they are certainly big enough that I wouldn't want to be in Musashi's shoes… uh, so to speak. Gandora flies around in circles to warm up. In contrast, Musashi bends forward to reach the ground with his blades, then sits down in a lotus position.

"Oh, this is too easy," Bernie laughs. "I'm sorry, Jin, but that dragonite is going to kick your butt."

"I don't think it will be that easy," Lisa suggests. "I'd bet on the scyther."

Now everyone's focus is on Lisa. She shrugs and says she has a thing for bugs, but I don't think that's it. I think it has something to do with her training, and by extension, her ability to assess the level of training our Pokémon have endured. True, dragonite can generally beat scyther in brute strength, and those scales provide an almost impenetrable armor, but scyther's speed dwarfs dragonite's, and there are always intangible factors, such as mettle. In particular, Musashi endured swordsmanship training; he's more disciplined than the average _human_ and knows his own limits quite well. I see this as a true fight of skill versus strength—if Gandora gets in one good hit, Musashi is likely to go down, but Gandora has to catch him first.

A dragonite is plenty rare and one of the strongest Pokémon known, evidence that Musashi has little chance of success from an objective view. In fact, the scientist in me wants to look at the physics of it all. Gandora outweighs Musashi by three hundred pounds, enough weight to kill a linebacker if Gandora tackled him hard enough. Yet the disciplined fighter in me tries to remember that skill can trump pure strength. And although dragon scales are very resistant to attack, the belly and neck appear to be less protected.

Mayhan reminds us that the rules for Pokémon battles are somewhat like a boxing match. We aren't trying to kill one another's Pokémon, and so when Mayhan's referee signals for us to pull off our Pokémon, we are supposed to call them off until the ref determines whether a Pokémon is able to continue the battle. The rule makes sense, and I certainly appreciate any rule that makes it less likely Musashi will be hurt too badly.

Finally the time comes for our Pokémon to battle to commence. I shake Olivia's hand and wish her a good match. Her eyes tell me her opinion of me—that I'm delusional—but she's polite about returning my well wishes. She's forty-six years old, fresh out of high school, and has won entire tournaments with only Gandora, the very same dragonite she caught when she was fourteen and raised from a dratini.

I heed Lisa's advice and warn Musashi not to underestimate Gandora, but I can't be sure how much of what I say is actually understood—I care about Musashi and love him like a friend, but when it comes to intelligence, he's a giant bug. Still, I put my faith in him. My studies into scyther biology revealed that a scyther's brain is not terribly unlike an infant's. Yeah, the rest of the biology is a far cry from being mammalian, but its brain is able to learn, mimic, and adapt with time and exposure. In other words, scyther can learn to respond to certain key words, but the vocabulary is very limited. Other species of Pokémon, such as dragonite, have more cerebral folds and therefore have a greater capacity for commands.

The match begins and Musashi takes action immediately. It is almost impossible for the human eye to keep up with Musashi—he looks like a green blur when he moves. He lands the first attack on Gandora, swiping the blade of his left arm clean through Gandora's basilica vein in the upper arm. That attack would have felled just about any opponent out there, but Musashi is baffled and a bit upset by the results of this attack; his blades only scratch the surface of Gandora's scales and never actually hit the vein. Gandora seems somewhat stunned by the speed of the attack, but still unharmed.

The last time we faced a dragonite, Musashi and I figured out that the weak points in a dragonite correspond to the weak points in a human. The front of the neck, under the arms, just beneath the xyphoid process of the rib cage, the Achilles heel, and, of course, the groin. Any of these areas can be exploited for a lot of damage in a short amount of time. The very fact that Gandora is still upright is testament to his strength, and perhaps Olivia's strength as a trainer. I know I just reminded Musashi not to underestimate Gandora, but I guess a part of me still forgot that there are individual differences among all Pokémon of each species such that no two will be identically powerful, and this one was trained by a champion-level trainer.

Olivia shouts commands at her dragonite—commands to use attacks such as Thunderbolt and Wing Attack. I understand how Pokémon battling works traditionally, but in my experience, Pokémon often have difficulty responding to commands, and always with a big delay. Imagine being in a boxing match while someone behind you screams to use a left jab, now a right hook, now block left, now push him into the corner… Boxers don't hear those commands because they generally spend all their perceptual skills watching the opponent's moves and trying to figure out the best approach to make that guy fall down first. Pokémon are like that, too. They get caught up in the moment and stop listening to the trainer, not because of disobedience or unruliness, but because their only thought is about not getting hurt. Any Pokémon trainer who says he makes the difference in the battle doesn't give enough credit to his Pokémon—in the thick of it, everything rests on the Pokémon's shoulders. I took such an approach with Musashi—I trained him to read his opponent and be ever-vigilant, and I just have to trust his instincts in battle.

At Olivia's request, Gandora frequently channels electrical chakra into his claws and body because electrical attacks have been known to damage flyers; however, Musashi spends a lot of time above the ground with his multiple wings fluttering wildly, and so the electrical energy does little more than stun him; as long as he doesn't touch the ground or any other voltage point—such as Gandora himself—Musashi won't sustain a great shock. It's the same basic reason insulated shoes help protect utility workers from electric shock. When the crackling sound of Gandora's electrical attacks fades, Musashi dashes in quickly and swipes again, barely missing Gandora's critical points. That scaly armor of his is making things difficult for Musashi, but I have faith that Musashi will eventually find an opening.

Perhaps Gandora's most devastating feature is that he is not limited to electrical energy expulsion. He also has the capacity to breathe fire, which is especially effective against bugs. When most animals eat, their bodies produce methane gas during the digestion process. Some Pokémon have an extra lung of sorts—sometimes called a "fire sac"—that stores the gas to be expelled later. Upon exhaling the methane, additional phosphor is added from the back of the throat, thus igniting the gas upon contact with the air. In this way, fire-breathers can do so without damaging their own internal organs. Gandora uses that Flamethrower ability quite thoroughly—he has impressive stamina to breathe out for so long—and gives himself some protection. Musashi is so busy darting around to avoid the spreading flames that he can't move in for attack. Musashi doesn't have many long-range attacks—nothing to overpower a flame attack—and has to wait for an opening.

Finally Gandora has to take a breath. With the field afire and Gandora showing signs of fatigue, Musashi rushes in quickly.

"Use the Swords Dance!" I shout. I'm not even certain that Scyther hears me until after his first attack glances off Gandora's backside; Musashi takes a step back, then begins attacking with precise, coordinated movements. He doesn't tire easily because he was trained not to make extra motions when he attacks. The Swords Dance has him moving on all sides of the dragonite, slashing powerfully and repeatedly, crossing his blades, and even knocking Gandora off balance by attacking with his wings, and he even focuses his inner chakra into making the wind sharper beneath his attacks.

I didn't even realize that Olivia stopped calling commands temporarily. Finally she tells Gandora, "Grab him!" Gandora stands still while Musashi strikes in the solar plexus. Blood trickles onto Musashi's bladed arm, but Gandora reaches out and grips Musashi's shoulders with his claws. Musashi tries to wriggle away, but he can't seem to break the hold.

That's when Olivia and Gandora deliver the real coup de grace. "Use Hyper Beam."

I've seen some of Carrie's Pokémon use Hyper Beam. It is the epitome of focused chakra, erupting from the Pokémon body with devastating force capable of inflicting great damage. And Gandora is about to hit Musashi at point-blank range; he struggles and tries with all his might to break free, but when a dragon outweighs you by three hundred pounds and has his claws in your arm, you're not going anywhere.

"I quit!"

The referee must have seen that coming because he immediately steps in and forces Olivia to call off Gandora's attack. Gandora is able to release his hold on Musashi pretty easily, but he has a tough time swallowing all that chakra. He turns his head skyward and releases a not-fully-formed Hyper Beam into the air, where the energy dissipates harmlessly into the atmosphere. Gandora takes a few breaths to relax from all that happened. His stomach is bleeding much heavier now that Musashi's arm was removed. I can't help but be impressed by the precision with which Musashi hit the dragon's soft spot. Olivia recalls her dragonite into an Ultra Ball as I congratulate Musashi on a battle well fought and recall him into his Safari Ball.

"Bold move," Olivia tells me as we shake hands, "giving me a win like that."

Maybe so, but I'm sure it was the smarter move. If Musashi had been hit, the battle would likely be over anyway; this way, Musashi needs not spend the remainder of the tournament on bed rest. And not everyone thinks my loss was a complete loss.

"That was pretty wicked," Geoff tells me. He's impressed that a bug could ever go head to head with a dragon like that. I jokingly tell him I'm impressed, too.

Lisa's approach is much more subtle. "That was okay," she says. Her eyes betray her, though, and tell me that she was sure the very first round would prove me to be a sub-par trainer. In fact, I showed that my training style is effective in its own right, even if it is not the easiest or most efficient. I suppose there is no set method to achieving victory.

* * *

_It occurred to me while writing this chapter that I could easily spend an entire chapter or more just on Pokémon biology as one might find it in the real world, but that's really not the main point to the story. I intend to describe things to a degree, but I'm not going to bother going into the discussion of eyes, brain size, and the presence of a neocortex. I'd need to discuss these things in depth with someone better versed in animal biology than I am to figure out what makes sense for every species of Pokémon that comes up. And as interesting as the prospect might be, how many of you really care what I think a real Pokémon would look like internally?_  
_That doesn't preclude me from discussing physics, however. If you noticed and were concerned with my description of a dragonite's wings--which I said are attached all the way from the shoulder to the hip, a little like a bat--my only defense is that wings attached at the shoulders (physically speaking) would cause a dragonite to fly vertically, vastly reducing speed and power in any horizontal movement. The Pokédex says it's a strong flier, and so I made sure its physiology would support that suggestion._

_I think the next two chapters are where I'll start really introducing the other characters. I would like to apologize to Happy2BMe, and apologize preemptively to the rest of you, for altering any of the characters from what you have in mind. Sometimes two people can read the same description and determine two completely different backgrounds and underlying systems of logic (it happens to counselors all the time). Some characters have personalities that will fit right into the story, and some have personalities that will have to change in an intense situation, which is actually not uncommon in real life. It all ultimately comes down to the author._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	4. A Round of Football

**A Round of Football**

Lisa was right; I'm way too hot by the time Round 1 ends. As soon as the last battle ends, I go straight to my room and change into green workout shorts and a white T-shirt bearing the logo of the baseball team I coach. I can feel the difference instantly. I even take an extra moment to wipe away the sweat on my legs and back with a towel and apply another layer of antiperspirant. Now I head back to the picnic to join the other trainers for lunch.

The first round was pretty exciting, especially because it was the first time in a long time I'd actually watched a series of Pokémon battles. The most fun battle to watch was Lisa versus Bernie. She called out a blaziken named Apollo to battle with Bernie's breloom named Cockatrice. I think I'll pass on repeating the nickname Bernie used in a futile effort to throw Lisa off her game.

A blaziken is an odd combination of chicken and man. Although it's much more bird than mammal, I'd have to study it more in depth to know exactly how much like a human it is. All I can say for sure is it's a six-foot-three, fighting bird that only weighs 120 pounds. A blaziken's weight is almost exclusively focused into its legs, making it able to leap impressive distances when coupled with its hollow bones and internal air sacs. It's clearly lightweight, which reduces its overall strength somewhat, but a blaziken can make up for its lack of mass by generating heat in its skin and setting itself ablaze. The really interesting thing is that blazikens have specialized glands that secrete a film over their feathers to prevent them from suffering adverse effects of their own flames, much the same way duck feathers are coated with oil to render them largely waterproof.

Bernie's breloom is even more complicated and difficult to explain, as it somehow merges the animal kingdom with the fungi kingdom. It actually looks like a green-capped mushroom growing out of a kangaroo. It is only four feet tall and a little less than a hundred pounds in weight. It has very strong legs, just like a blaziken, but its body has a little more density, including a tail with hardened spores at the end; the tail acts as a counterweight to allow the breloom to stand upright. Atop its head is a cap with dozens of lamellae on the underside. The lamellae increase the surface area to mass ratio, thus increasing spore production for several of its poisonous and petrifying attacks. Luckily the wind wasn't too heavy and so we spectators were pretty safe from any ill effects during the battle. Unfortunately for Cockatrice, the fact that its fungal body doesn't produce the same moisture as mammalian skin makes it even more susceptible to Apollo's flaming kicks than I would be.

The fun part of witnessing that battle was that Lisa trained Apollo to fight like a human as well. Bernie is jealous of both Musashi and Apollo and wants to know where he might teach his own scyther to fight like that back home or to let his breloom fight a little more skillfully, although it put up a great fight and may have won if not for the type mismatch. I tell him that I trained Musashi myself in the same martial arts styles I learned from my grandfather. Bernie is hopeful there's some way he can teach his breloom to be like Musashi, capable of controlling through skill a battle in which he was potentially overwhelmed. I tell him it's possible if he finds a martial artist willing and able to train a Pokémon.

The questions and commotion people are making over Musashi's talent make it difficult for me to question Lisa about her Pokémon. I've never met another trainer who used human styles to train Pokémon. I always thought that was unique to me; clearly I was wrong. In hindsight, it does seem arrogant of me to think no one else would think to try that, but I can count on two hands the number of real trainers with whom I've actually discussed training techniques; I've always just assumed everyone used the same techniques, which is an embarrassing thought from a statistician. But more important to me is that I recognize the fighting style her blaziken used. It's an incredibly rare style that I only recognize because of the wide variety of styles, techniques, and stances I've witnessed at the martial arts tournaments I've attended throughout my life. I want to talk to her about it, but I'd rather do it alone to avoid the series of vapid questions I can predict coming from the other trainers who know very little about martial arts.

Actually, the results of my battle made me notably more popular. I think I already won over Lisa and Timmy, but now Olivia finally seems okay with me. I guess the fact that she won loosened her up a bit. Emily even complimented me on the fact that I was willing to take a loss in order to protect Musashi from unnecessary harm. She was in an unfortunately similar situation when her seventy-pound delcatty went up against Timmy's eight-hundred-pound aggron. It was a powerful mismatch and so she actually followed my example and protected her much smaller Pokémon when she realized victory was out of reach. I doubt that I started a brand new trend or anything, but it is somewhat refreshing to know that I'm not the only person who thinks safety is more important than winning a tournament. Deborah is _not_ one of those people, as we all learned when her blissey faced Omar's steelix and got ca-rushed!

I took Musashi to the onsite veterinarian after the match, but the only diagnosis was weariness with minor wounds. The skin above the blade on his right arm is wounded from Gandora's claws and his heart rate is a little high, but the heart rate goes down with rest and the healing process is facilitated sufficiently by the stimulating properties of the Safari Ball. The magic of a Pokéball—regardless of specifications—is that it helps soothe the wounds sustained by a Pokémon in battle by releasing an enzyme that stimulates cell regeneration and growth. It can't hold a candle to the assistance a veterinarian can give, but using a Pokéball can certainly _help_ Pokémon regain their strengths.

Anyway… The weather is nice and I'm eager to start moving around. Musashi got a good workout this morning while I remained all but immobile. I feel it's my turn for exercise, and a game of flag football seems a good choice in this open yard with this number of people. I saw a closet full of sports equipment in the gym last night. All I need is someone to play with. I ask the others, starting with Timmy. When he gets excited about it, it's easier for me to use his child-like enthusiasm as incentive for others to play with us.

"Lady Sunday is not much of a football player," Sunday says. She's not alone in that opinion, but I think it still sounds like fun, and certainly easier than trying to play baseball with only sixteen people. "Let me rephrase that," Sunday responds curtly. "The Lady won't play." She turns her back on me and walks back toward the mansion. So much for my first impression of her. I think her milotic's victory over Geoff's garchomp inflated her ego. Then again, she seems so well practiced at this new, snooty attitude that I can't really tell if she's gained confidence from a victory or if she just stopped suppressing an attitude problem she already had. Maybe she always sported that better-than-you attitude back home, and she just tried to hide it from the rest of us at first; referring to herself in the third person certainly suggests that may be the case.

I make sure everyone else knows this game is strictly a friendly game for the sake of exercise. When Remy points out that we could all end up exhausted before our evening Pokémon battles, I tell her, "You don't have to play. But we should engage in a little recreational activity while we're here at such a fancy place. A really short game could be fun. Plus, it's not like _we're_ the ones battling in this tournament." I also point out that everyone is in reasonable physical shape, and I assume that's because everyone knows that Pokémon respond best to a trainer who's in the same shape he or she wants from the Pokémon. I apparently spin a convincing yarn because they buy it and agree to play for a little while. Actually, Remy and Olivia seem uninterested until Omar decides he wants to play; I guess they're already so cliquey they picked Omar as their leader. But we have four hours before the evening competition, so why not play around for a short time?

"How do we decide teams?" Bernie asks.

"What about guys against girls?" Geoff suggests.

The suggestion elicits annoyed scoffs from the women. Emily points out, "There's always someone who says 'guys against girls.' Not only is that stupid for a _football_ game, but there are _more_ guys than girls."

"We can play winners against losers," Victor suggests. He explains he refers to this morning's matches; that will divide the teams evenly. As I recall, that would put me on a team with Bernie, Geoff, Shawn, Jess, Emily, Deborah, and Fell, depending on what we decide to do with the extra player. The consensus is such a division will be inherently biased. We finally settle on the two youngest being team captains and picking team members one-by-one the old-fashioned way. To balance the teams by number, Deborah opts to sit out and officiate the game. I doubt she really knows much about football, but how hard can it be even for a layman to know when someone commits a real penalty?

Fell is generally friendly and all smiles, even when his lucario lost earlier today to Anfernee's magmortar. He seems a little reckless in battle, though, eager to finish things with each attack. He seems like he'd be one of those "swing for the fences" guys if he played baseball; that kind of behavior can lead to big wins when it works… and big misses when it doesn't. Still, he seems fairly mature for a nineteen-year-old with a "wrong side of the tracks" upbringing. Having seen the way his lucario engaged in a bit of street fighting, it would be interesting to see if Fell actually uses any actual techniques in a fight or if everything is just instinct. The thing about him that makes him easily recognizable is his heterochromia; his left eye is pale green in color and his right eye is a gold-hazel.

Timmy picks first: Lisa.

Fell selects Omar. Omar—a forty-eight-year-old—looks overweight at first glance, but I can tell from looking at him it's not as simple as a guy overeating. Omar played football in college, which explains why he's built like a linebacker and why he wanted to play flag football with us today. Whereas I'm a lean type of muscular, he's a bulky type. I don't know numbers, but I'm willing to bet he can lift a lot more weight than I can. He's a salesman now, and supposedly he's very good at it and makes a decent living that way, though he doesn't seem really thrilled with how his life turned out. I'm sure he would have been happier playing football as a career, but something happened that prevented him from doing so.

Lisa whispers in Timmy's ear and he picks me, which is already enough to get me excited. I can't help feeling a little tingle at the thought that Lisa wants to have me on her team. As far as the game goes, I don't play football much, but I'm in shape for baseball, which means I'm quick on my feet and have good hands.

Fell selects Victor, probably because Victor looks like he's in roughly the same physical condition as Samson. For some reason I haven't pegged yet, I feel a little frustrated when I look at Victor. He's competitive to the point of being arrogant and condescending, but I think that's only a part of it. That alone doesn't explain why I don't like him. I suppose another part of it might be that I'm also pretty competitive and he summoned a scizor earlier to defeat Jess's gallade in an exciting match. Scizor is an "evolved" form of scyther, and maybe a part of me liked being the only one with a humanoid bug Pokémon; I wouldn't have thought that true of myself, but it's certainly possible when I remember that Musashi lost and Victor's scizor won. Or maybe it's that Victor strikes me as an attention hog, like a spoiled kid who thinks everything is supposed to go his way all the time.

Whatever the reason I don't like him, Victor is obviously a talented trainer. I think he's from Plumbum City in this Periodos region and travels as a Pokémon trainer, but I never got a lot of details from him. He doesn't really respect me, perhaps because of my lack of experience and the fact that Musashi lost. That makes me pretty eager to pit Musashi against his scizor and determine who the better fighter _really_ is. In terms of appearance, he's not terribly different from me: pretty tall, well built, dark hair, and a fair complexion. He's probably better looking than I am, though he lacks the dangerous edge my scar gives me.

Lisa whispers in Timmy's ear again and he picks Shawn. Shawn, at twenty-seven, is in decent shape. Maybe a tad on the thin side, he's an electrical engineer from parts around Floaroma Town in the Sinnoh region. He strikes me as quite intelligent and cultured. I understand he not only graduated from his engineering program with honors, but I heard him listening to classical music last night; Tchaikovsky, if I'm not mistaken. He seems to be a little moody, evidenced by the heavily emotional music. I asked him if anything was wrong at one point, but when he said he was fine and that he always looks like that, I just took him at his word and assumed he'd tell me if it were any of my business. Also none of my business is his as of yet undefined relationship with Jessica.

Fell selects Emily; she's already demonstrated herself as tomboyish if for no other reason than she knows more about football than I do. Emily is twenty-one years and very tough, and she talks bigger smack than Omar. I think she's an artist and a trainer, but she earns most of her money being an athletic trainer for a health club—and for sports teams by extension—in Goldenrod City in the Johto region. She's a regular participant in the powderpuff football games in her region, which explains how she knows so much about football. Emily can be rather abrasive and candid when she speaks, but I think she got that way being defensive against how intimidating it can be to look at her. Emily is just shorter than six feet tall and looks amazingly fit, plus she's very pretty and is not afraid to highlight her body shape with her tight clothes.

Shawn whispers in Timmy's ear and he picks Jessica, another engineer who isn't very tall and so doesn't look much like a football player, but I think she and Shawn have a thing going between them. Jess is actually a very interesting case and someone I might be interested in if I hadn't gotten attached to Lisa first. She seems like a good listener when I speak to her, but when we watched the earlier Pokémon battles, it seemed almost as if she was anywhere else. She repeated aspects of the battles, suggesting she saw them, but I've seen similar facial expressions on some of my students when they start daydreaming in class. Contrarily, she's also very schedule-driven. She's a little upset that we weren't provided with strict schedules for the tournament save the battle times; the fact that I convinced everyone to spend some time bonding over football seems to alleviate her frustrations some, but now she seems disappointed that I didn't give a specific length of time for the game. It will be interesting to see how well she's able to focus during the game.

Fell selects Anfernee, a very tall and well built guy. Anfernee is a twenty-two-year-old who plays basketball for the Viridian City Academy in the Kanto region. He's not as bulky as Omar, but he's bulkier than I am and likely physically stronger. He's originally from Cinnabar Island and earned the nickname "The Answer" because the gym leader there—known for posing riddles to his opponents—has yet to stump Anfernee; this information leads me to believe he's very smart, or at least a very quick thinker.

Timmy next picks Bernie, who is probably in the worst shape of all of us. Aurum City in my own Periodos region is home to one of the most popular Internet data centers in the region, and that's where Bernie and Geoff both come in. They both do a lot of work with computers, but whereas Geoff takes on work with web designing and program writing, Bernie handles the business end of their work. They're both nerds when compared with guys like Omar and Anfernee, made painfully obvious when they throw around cheesy smack talk and laugh amongst themselves in response to their own jokes; Jess laughs at their jokes, but I think everyone else is just laughing at _them_. But they're very friendly guys. Bernie seems to bond pretty quickly with our team captain over a handful of jokes even worse than my earlier puns—something I never thought possible.

Bernie is five-foot-eight and the most overweight tournament competitor. I wouldn't qualify him as fat, but he's certainly a big guy. By contrast, Geoff is five-foot-seven and incredibly skinny, with tattoos everywhere. He looks like he's wearing a turtleneck sweater just because the tattoos go all the way around his neck from the base of his skull to below his T-shirt's collar. Why bother to get a book of tattoo designs when I could just look at his back to pick out a design? Not that I'm interested in tattoos, but if I were, I'd probably ask Geoff's advice beforehand. They're both thirty-five years old.

Fell selects Olivia, my earlier opponent. Bernie whispers in Timmy's ear and he picks Remy, a fairly attractive woman with a nice body shape; I make a face at Bernie and he just gives a dirty grin. I would have expected Bernie to request his best friend join our team, but he was more interested in having another woman play with us. I'm not sure exactly what his thought process was considering I see a ring on his left hand, but I'm sure he wasn't thinking just about football.

I don't know a lot about Olivia or Remy because they're pretty quiet even though they consented to playing the game. I know the former is forty-six years old and the latter is thirty-eight years old. Olivia at least has a girlish smile as her default expression since she lightened up after that first match. She does make it known that she has a membership to a recreational facility at her home in the Johto region. She's employed as a Pokémon breeder; that is, she earns a living by grooming Pokémon, helping people care for them including selling recommended supplies, and breeding Pokémon for whatever particular traits are requested by the people with the money and time for the process. Having seen Olivia's dragonite, how strong and healthy it was, I'm fairly convinced she earns top dollar for it.

Remy is slightly more social than Olivia, though the two appear to be friends. She's actually very funny, able to roll with the punches of someone else's smack talk and to turn it back at them with improved zing. She's also from the Johto region and is in the same relative shape as Olivia, having the same gym membership and using it just as often. Remy also works in Pokémon breeding. Apparently the two paired up and were so good at it that they got a loan from a friend to start their own breeding business; they've already repaid half the loan after only two years time. Maybe I'm not supposed to notice or it could be coincidence, but Omar and Remy each wear matching silver rings on their left hands. Although the age difference seems a lot, I can tell from looking at them the two are happy together. Actually, knowing they're married just serves as a reminder that not only have I never been married, I'm not even close; I've had trouble enough holding onto a solid relationship. It also serves to distract me from the thought of football and sends me to thinking about possible futures with Lisa… and the possibility of Deborah.

Geoff goes to Fell's team and suffers trash talk from Bernie to the tune of being the last one picked.

Back to the game, Geoff asks, "How will we be to tell who's on what team?"

"Maybe knowing whether you _want_ the ball or already _have_ the ball can be a clue," Bernie suggests sardonically.

"Let's play shirts and skins," Anfernee suggests. He flips a coin and determines that my team is skins. I'm okay being topless, but Lisa, Jess, and Remy aren't too thrilled with the idea. Lisa suggests instead we play by colors. Among the equipment we found for a game, we found blue jerseys and red jerseys; we don the blue while the other team wears red.

Another coin flip determines who gets the ball first; we do. The rules we agreed on say six players on the field at a time; Remy sits out for us at first and hollers occasional cheers to support us and flirty taunts to throw Omar off his game. Shawn and I are each reasonably suited for the quarterback position, but it's Lisa who takes the ball for us. My speed and agility allow me to keep a step on Victor every time he tries to cover me. Jess and Bernie make a good couple of guards for Lisa. Despite my speed and Shawn's moves, Timmy is the one who catches Lisa's first pass—he slipped everyone's attention and got wide open for a catch.

The game is pretty exciting and challenging, despite our losing by one touchdown. The MVPs of each team are hard to choose. On our side, Lisa threw four touchdown passes with only one interception; I caught two TD passes from her and made two interceptions, including one returned for a touchdown; and Jess ran for two TDs. Omar is obviously the MVP for the other team, having made Lisa's only interception and scored two TD receptions and two TD runs; Emily is the runner-up, though, with three passing TDs. All in all, everyone gets a fair share of field time and works up a big sweat, and we still have another few hours to kill before we need to report to the beachfront arena for Round 2 of the tournament.

Lisa punches me playfully in the arm and says, "You played alright for a guy with a limp."

"It's okay to be impressed by me," I tell her jokingly.

"As soon as I am, I'll let you know. You did lose, after all."

"That's okay," I reply. "As long as my Pokémon pick up my slack, I'm okay with losing from time to time."

"Speaking of your Pokémon…" she says. I expect her to bring up my third Pokémon—one considered by Pokémon trainers to be of legendary status. I know everyone has heard about her by now because I told Deborah last night and I can see it in everyone else's eyes. But instead Lisa finishes her sentence with, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your scyther seems to know nitojutsu."

Lisa's pretty face, her exercise ethic, and her perfectly built body were never as attractive to me as when she told me she knew about nitojutsu. It turns out Lisa comes from a line of martial artists. Her great grandfather was a champion kick boxer and her great, great grandfather was a weaponsmith who forged a wide variety of weapons in his career, including blades of all sizes and purposes. Lisa never learned swordplay herself, but she read about it when she learned of her lineage.

That's when I hit her with my knowledge of her blaziken's fighting style: Jeet Kune Do—"way of the intercepting fist." It's a martial arts philosophy more than a style, but Lisa says my assessment is correct. Jeet Kune Do was a philosophy created by Bruce Lee to cover a wide range of fighting styles. The purpose behind this philosophy was not to restrict fighting to a single method or technique, or to label moves as belonging to such.

"What gave it away?" Lisa asks me.

"The fencing stance your Apollo used," I explain. "The stance was from one corner of the globe in origin, but his punches were from another. Jeet Kune Do uses such variety in stances because they allow better flow from move to move."

Lisa stares at me for a moment. "Okay. _Now_ I'm impressed," she tells me.

I'm thinking about trying to kiss her at that moment. The look in her eyes is very different from when I first approached her in the gym last night. She doesn't think of me as creepy anymore. Maybe she'll let me if I try. Just when I talk myself into it, I remember that we're still outside with six other trainers close by. It's not that I'm shy, but she might be, and so I put off that decision for now. It turns out to be a good choice, anyway, because Victor approaches us.

"Hey, Jin," he says. He looks at me through competitive eyes. I don't doubt for a minute that he's interested in how Musashi compares with his scizor. Undoubtedly Victor thinks Musashi is weaker than his scizor because he's "unevolved," but he should know that the evolution of scizor trades speed for strength. A scizor is a foot taller, a hundred pounds heavier, and its exoskeleton is much tougher—almost metallic. But Musashi is exceptionally well trained, and when he's up against an opponent of comparable size, I think he'd win handily. I rooted for Jess to win their match earlier, probably because her gallade reminds me so much of Musashi; it teleports around the field and strikes quickly with its tonfa-like arms. In hindsight, the gallade's loss seems inevitable and obvious, but at the time, I was sure Victor was going to lose. Despite the precedent the match set, I feel pretty confident that Musashi could win against a scizor.

"Hey, Vic," Lisa says to him. She smiles at him, but something about him is displeasing to me. I'm not sure why, but I really don't like the guy, and I like him even less right now. He's done nothing to me or my Pokémon, but somehow he still rubs me the wrong way. I try not to let other people know that I'm judging him without knowing him, though; that's definitely not the impression of myself I want to give.

"That was a good game," I say to him. "You really made me work for those receptions."

"You played well," he replies. "We only played slightly better. I'm actually hoping to talk to you about your scyther. He uses an impressive fighting style."

"Your scizor—Zantetsu, was it? He's nothing to sneeze at, either. That gallade hit him with a number of powerful attacks and he just kept going." In fact, he seemed to win because he _just happened_ to avoid most of the gallade's attacks; I say "just happened to avoid" because they were all very nearly successful hits, but Zantetsu managed to turn at the last second to avoid them. The whole fight looked like the gallade was dominant unless you could see that he hit less often than he missed.

"But he got hit," Victor points out. "Your scyther avoided everything from that dragonite until the end when he got caught."

"It's a strategy that works for him. Musashi isn't strong enough to go head-on with the majority of battling Pokémon, and so I trained him to strike quickly and skillfully—usually at the back, but dragonite's scales kind of threw that strategy aside. It's just a matter of training him to cover his weaknesses. From what I saw, Zantetsu has very few weaknesses to address."

"I appreciate the kind words," Victor says. "How do you get your scyther to react so quickly to your commands? Scyther is not a particularly intelligent Pokémon species. I'm curious how you learned to synchronize so well."

I chuckle to myself when I realize this guy is giving me the credit for Musashi's win. I know I trained him to fight and taught him where to strike and when, but Musashi did the fighting all by himself. It's the difference between the boxer and the manager. I tell Victor the same, but he doesn't seem convinced. He thinks I'm hiding something that might give me an edge in this tournament.

Victor suddenly ignores me. He looks at Lisa and tells her, "Remember that book you told me about? I was wondering if I could maybe borrow it for a day. I promise I'll get it back to you before the tournament ends."

"Sure," she replies. "It's in my room." She stands up and leads Victor inside the mansion. I desperately want to follow them to make sure Lisa doesn't stop thinking about me, but I also don't want to seem too clingy and following her around like a puppy would definitely come off as clingy. Maybe I'm misreading the signals with her. Perhaps she's not really interested in me. She might have a boyfriend—or even a fiancée—back home.

Deborah sits down where Lisa once was—I didn't even notice her approach—and tells me in a mocking manner, "Aw, are you having trouble hitting your next mark?"

"What? No. It's not like that."

"Sure, it isn't. She's young, attractive, and you can't control yourself."

"You came on to me," I remind her.

She shrugs. "It's a viable method of interrogation."

"What?" Now she's got my attention. Does she mean to say that we only spent time together because she wanted information from me? That's seems like an awfully stupid and dangerous way to gain the edge. What is she: a James Bond spy?

Even though the information means nothing to either of us now, I tell her, "If you had only asked me for the information you wanted, I would have told you without any favors."

She seems appalled by this revelation. At first she seems angry, but that gives way to a seductive smile. "Well played," she tells me. "I guess I'm not as smooth as I thought." She leans her head on my shoulder and asks, "Maybe you're interested in a repeat performance tonight?"

My first instinct is to say yes immediately—I may be disciplined but I'm still human—but one look in her eyes tells me what she really wants. Deborah likes to be in control. She has two sources of power over others: I'll call them _knowledge_ and _luxury_. She was using knowledge of me as power over the other trainers, and luxury is her power over me. _Was_, anyway.

"I appreciate the offer," I tell her, "but I'll pass this time." Part of me thinks I'm an idiot for turning down any woman who looks like she does, but another part of me loves the idea of humbling her when she realizes she has no more power over me.

She sees right through me, though, and tells me, "Okay, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me." When she walks away and I catch myself staring at her and remembering what it was like to be with her yesterday, I realize how weak I still am.

Timmy walks up to me curiously and says, "A lot of girls like to talk to you."

I merely smile at him and say, "Chicks dig scars, buddy."

* * *

_And there we have the introduction to each character as Jin knows them so far. As is often the case in stories and in TV scripts, each character will get more specific detail and development in future chapters as the story allows, generally when they get face time with Jin. Bernie, Geoff, Shawn, and Jess are on the bill for the next two chapters.  
I honestly have no idea just yet how I could possibly put more characters into the story. I have a few who haven't been introduced yet who will get more details, but it's up to Jin whether I can include any more reader-submitted characters. I'm not even sure how long the story will be. My original goal was to make a short story aprroximately 70 pages in Word, but I'm already up to 28 and we're still not even done with Day 1 of the tournament._

_For anyone curious about how I decided who won and who lost the first round, I used a random number generator to determine match-ups (including trainers and their Pokémon). If physics don't declare an obvious winner (e.g., delcatty vs. aggron) and it isn't part of the story, then I used the random numbers to determine who wins. I don't have any hidden agendas for reader-submitted characters; I don't favor my own characters over them or vice-versa._

_If you notice any typos (I just found one in the previous chapter), please let me know. I won't take it as an affront to my writing style. Typos drive me nuts, especially when I'm at fault, and when I finally notice one after a week has passed, it makes me self-conscious as to whether other people noticed and just assumed that was commonplace with me. It's just one of my obsessions._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	5. A Round of Rarity

**A Round of Rarity**

I pass the time before the evening battles with Timmy, Bernie, Geoff, Shawn, and Jess. Shawn and Jess are pretty much jocks whereas Bernie and Geoff are definitely nerds, but they all share similar senses of humor. Timmy repeats to them a few of my Pokémon jokes and they decide to include the kid in their circle of friends. I'm learning that participating in tournaments is a way to extend a trainer's social circles. Shawn and Jess met at a regional tournament several years ago and befriended one another back then. Bernie and Geoff were roommates in college, and they met Shawn at an Elite Four Tournament.

"Is this the first tournament all four of you attended together?" I ask them.

"No," Bernie tells me and says they sometimes go to small-scale tournaments just to have the opportunity to see one another. "We still keep in touch over the phone and through email. We even contracted each of these two at one point to help with some engineering projects for our company, and we designed the website for the company they work for. The four of us try to get together anytime there's a tournament near one of our homes or if there's some kind of work we can hire one another for."

"Yeah," Geoff agrees. "I've also been in tournaments with Omar and Remy. I think they're married and probably met through another tournament. I know Remy and Olivia are pretty good friends with their breeding business. I think one of them already knew Fell somehow, so those four pretty much made their own clique as soon as they got here just like we did."

"That's amazing," I tell them. "I never realized Pokémon training could help bring such a range of people together." How silly of me to assume all Pokémon trainers were interested only in competition.

"Is this really your first tournament?" Jess asks me in response to hearing such a rumor. "I find it hard to believe with your scyther as strong as he is."

"Lucky for me a person can turn out to be a decent trainer without attending organized tournaments," I suggest without intending much sarcasm.

"I guess you're a natural," Shawn says.

"Yeah, maybe you're a prodigy like Timmy here, or like Victor," Bernie suggests. "I heard Victor's first tournament victory happened when he was six."

"Six?" I ask incredulously. "How can someone possibly train Pokémon at six years old? A six-year-old is barely developed enough to know that the volume of water doesn't change just because the size of the glass changes."

"Maybe that's what they mean by 'prodigy,'" Shawn suggests.

He's probably right considering that's the very definition of "prodigy." That said, I am far from a prodigy. I only have eight Pokémon total at this point in life—I've had a few others that died of old age and disease—and I train all of them with the same intensity and approach that I do with Musashi. Apparently Victor has a whole other level of skill when training Pokémon. He complained that his scizor received a few glancing hits during the battle, but the stories Shawn and Bernie tell me about him make it sound like even one hit is higher than average for Victor's Pokémon, and that they always win regardless of damage. This information only builds my suspicions about him. How is it possible to train Pokémon to have such reaction speeds? Isn't there always a lag between giving a command and execution of the command?

We spend the majority of the remaining free time exploring the mansion—the parts where the staff will allow us to go, anyway. Beyond the residential wing where our rooms were located, the dining hall where we ate dinner, and the gym and the pool on the south side of the dining hall, I haven't seen much of the inside of the mansion. Bernie and Geoff say they wandered around a bit last night, and so I have no objections to them leading us around. It's interesting learning about my new associates and their little quirks as we wander.

When I say "quirks," I mostly can't help referring to Jess. There is something about wandering aimlessly that is noticeably upsetting to her. She tells us that even though she prefers to have a detailed schedule drawn up to dictate her day, she has managed to come to terms with the fact that this tournament provides us a lot of down time; of course, I don't think that's entirely true. You can try to push past your obsessions, but they're always nagging at you.

"How hard is it to give your guests something to do?" she asks, trying not to sound too obsessive yet accepting of the fact that she is. "You'd think a tournament would have a more complete schedule. I miss school."

Geoff laughs at that. "School is overrated. Besides, my favorite thing about school was the schedule flexibility. Skip class when something else comes up, such as not feeling like going."

"You get to skip school?" Timmy asked. He seems to like that idea. I remember being that age and of that mindset, but I obviously outgrew it. I point out that I rather enjoyed school, evidenced by the fact that I'm teaching now. That's not to say I don't wish I could make money off of martial arts, but I enjoy teaching and learning in an area where my students don't get hurt.

We start out taking the stairs in the corner of the residential wing; it's a narrow stairwell inside a small door that I thought was a linen closet, which is why I didn't even know the stairs were there. The basement is pretty dark, but it's mostly the "sunlight doesn't reach this far" kind of dark rather than one that provides any sense of foreboding. There's sunlight coming into an opening down the hall, though, which strikes me as a little odd. The halls down here are smaller than they are two floors up and there are several dark rooms "carpeted" with boxes and exercise equipment. I guess the basement here is more for storage than anything else.

Of course, I'm wrong pretty often.

"Check this out," Geoff says as we reach the biggest doors of the house so far. These double doors are the same size as the front door, which I can almost see from here. This part of the basement is directly underneath the foyer and I can see the wooden, spiral staircase that would lead me to the front door if I chose to ascend. The bases of high potters are visible from here, and I remember those potters house plants that get sunlight from the windows that surround the front door.

But these doors house the mansion's bar. One step through the door frame transports me to a room bigger than most banquet halls. There's a big, wooden bar on one side with a massive pantry behind it. Inside the pantry is a small stairway that leads into the wine cellar beneath a floor panel. There are stools here that are made from real quality oak and a lot of very well upholstered chairs and couches around for the loungers. At the corner of the far wall is a door that leads outside to the Pokémon arena we used this morning; come to think of it, I remember seeing the door this morning and wondering how I might get there. At first, I thought the wall by said door was painted black, but after I walk through the room and catch the light reflecting off the surface of the wall, I realize it's a TV the size of a movie theater screen.

"Can you imagine playing _Halo_ on that thing?" Geoff asks. I don't really understand the question.

Shawn seems to know what Geoff is talking about. "Are you kidding? That screen is way too big for video games. You'd have to turn your head just to know what's going on over there." Oh. I've never been one for video games. I spent most of my childhood training with my grandfather and trying to avoid following in my father's footsteps. And these guys are older than I… I can imagine watching a movie on this screen, on the other hand, but it would be tough to know what's going on unless the specific movie I'm watching has nothing but actor close-ups.

Another nice thing about wandering the house like this is that sometimes I like to learn about people. Bernie and Geoff are each still wearing wedding rings. Seems like a good place to start.

"Are you guys married?" I ask either of them.

Geoff wraps his arm around Bernie's and says, "It'll be three years tomorrow." Bernie quickly yanks his arm away and tells Geoff to "get off." That's funny enough to elicit an amused smile from me, but not enough to make me actually laugh.

"Seriously, though," Geoff continues. "We are each married to beautiful women with questionable tastes in men. I've been married for six years, but Bernie's been married for eight."

"Wow. Congrats," I say. My mind immediately goes to the thought of spending eight years of my life with a woman—Lisa is the current mental image in that role—but I have so much difficulty picturing it, as has always been the case for me. Then I realize that even though Bernie and Geoff are each older than I am, by the time they were my age, they had already been married for three years and one year, respectively. I'm happy for them, but that's somewhat distressing from my perspective. To keep myself from feeling bad about it, I just remember that marrying any of my previous girlfriends would have been pointless because the marriages would certainly end in speedy divorces.

I turn to Jess and Shawn and say, "You two aren't married, but is there something else between you?"

"We're just friends," Jess says with a friendly smile. She's looks to Shawn as if trying to see if that were the right thing to say, but she's not even blushing, which makes me think her comment is accurate.

Shawn elaborates with, "We're from the same area and have known one another for a long time. I'm, uh…" He pauses for a moment and looks out through the window toward the garden arena. As much as Jess tends to zone out, Shawn is the one who seems like he's in a whole other place right now.

"Check this out," Timmy says, breaking the tension. He's holding a tall, thin, white, aluminum can.

Jess is quick to grab it and say, "Believe me, dude; you don't want that." She looks at the can more closely and says more emphatically, "Whoa! For _two_ reasons!"

"What's the problem?" Shawn asks. Jess tosses him the can. Now that it's closer, I can see it's a can of beer. Shawn takes a look at the back of the can and reads, "Geez. It expired in 2005?" I admit that's impressive. I've never seen a product four years expired before—especially not in a room you'd think would be visited more often. How long does a rich guy have to go without a drink not to notice his beer is expired? Or wouldn't at least one of his dozens of housekeepers notice?

"How long does it take beer to expire?" For some reason, Jess looks at me when she asks. Is there something about me that says "wise old guy"? Maybe my response to the expiration date made her think I had some knowledge on the subject. I tell her I have no idea, but I imagine it's no sooner than eight months or a year. Besides, it all tastes like poison to me.

"Yesterday," Geoff says, "Bernie found a soda in there with an expiration date in 2002."

Bernie makes a face and says, "I gotta tell ya. It was a little flat."

Okay; _that_ was funny enough to laugh.

"I love that you drank it anyway," Jess giggles.

After a few more jokes at the expense of Zamia's ill-equipped bar, we take another spiral staircase in the corner up one flight. This puts us in a row of office rooms on the ground floor. Each office is almost the same size as my bedroom here and has a view of the beach if it faces north or the garden if it faces south. All the rooms are pretty well stocked with supplies, computers, and books, but what seems strangest is that each room is identical with the exception of the names written on the spines of each book. I guess that's not so strange, but it does seem pretty boring. Then again, I try to spend as little time in my school office as possible for that same reason.

It seems to me that every _other_ room is an office; every door between offices leads to a bathroom. Each is a full bathroom, too, meaning it has a toilet _and_ a bathtub. I guess the very fact that each bathroom even _has_ a tub suggests the building is pretty old and rarely gets renovated. The expired products in the bar suggest the same.

"Why even bother separating the offices from the bathrooms?" Geoff asks. "Why not make the bathroom the office and never have to get up?" I laugh, but mostly at the ridiculous mental image I get of someone using the paper shredder just to cover up the noise he's making after lunch. "What? You put a recliner on the toilet seat and you're all set."

"Would that be called a La-Z-_Bowl_ recliner?" I joke. That gets a decent laugh.

Jess looks through one of the offices and notes from the dimensions and the closet size that these offices could just as easily have been bedrooms. She even comments, "Are you sure this place wasn't built as a college dorm or a hotel?"

Shawn calls out from the bathroom, "I think it _is_ a hotel." He points to the shelves over the marble sink and directs our collective attention to the tiny, glass bottles of soap and shampoo standing upright. They all bear logos from the _Holiday Inn_.

Bernie offers the humorous explanation, "Come on, guys. Rich people have trouble making ends meet, too."

There isn't much else in the mansion. We find the service barracks, for lack of a better term, where the island's staff members dwell—they have remarkably impressive living arrangements for paid servants, but I guess that's not a big surprise in a house this size—a dozen more bathrooms, and a fair-sized library, but that's all. After that, we've explored the entire mansion grounds minus the few closed and locked rooms, though it did occupy us for the better part of an hour between exploring and discussing what we've found.

"How cool would it be to live in a place like this?" Timmy asks. "This place is huge. We could play Hide-N-Seek for days." That is certainly the case, but I can't even imagine living in a place like this. The only three rooms I'd ever use if I lived here would be my bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. I have a one-bedroom apartment back home that suits those needs perfectly.

Shawn jokes to Jess, "You could schedule your whole day just cleaning." She has trouble pretending she doesn't find that amusing. I think the fact that she's comfortable enough with who she is that she's okay joking about it is her best character feature—certainly my favorite thing about her. It's little surprise, either, that she's the one to point out the time and that we should begin heading toward the beachfront arena for the afternoon Pokémon battles. I haven't figured Shawn out yet, but Bernie and Geoff are easy reads and likeable guys. Likewise, Timmy is a pretty cool kid, even though I still feel a little awkward hanging out with a kid so young. I actually enjoyed spending the afternoon with this group.

The beachfront arena is nearly identical to the garden arena with sand replacing the grass. It still covers forty square yards in area and has two trainer platforms for us to watch the battles and "call commands," which, for me, means "watch closely and trust my Pokémon to be smarter than I am."

The first match of the afternoon pits Timmy and his starmie against Shawn and his weavile. I feel a little bit bad for the kid because there is a bit of a type mismatch in that a weavile is able to turn a starmie's psychic powers against itself. Shawn wins this round, putting him at one-and-one in the tournament.

Somehow, I ended up battling second this time. My afternoon match is against Remy, whom I'm tempted to refer to as Olivia II because of all their similarities. They both have long, dark hair with cool, green eyes and light-toned skin. They even dress similarly, choosing Capri pants and T-shirts.

At least I'm not up against another dragonite. Instead, at the computer's request, she summons an amphibious swampert. Although it is a quadruped, most of swampert's two hundred pounds is in its hindquarters; coupled with a broad, fin-like tail, a swampert can for brief periods stand on its hind legs. If it were to do so, it would be almost five feet tall, making it a very large mudpuppy. Its semiovular fins rising from above its eyes are of similar quality as the tail. Interestingly, swamperts have no eyelids, instead drawing upon the creature's natural moisture to prevent its eyes from drying when on land. It has lungs that make it capable of breathing on land, but generally swamperts live underwater in shallow lakes and rivers; that's why their gills, located from their cheeks to their necks, are visible and unprotected save two spikes protruding from either side. Their feet have only three webbed digits each.

But there is something rare and unusual about this specific swampert. The average swampert has cobalt-colored skin; this one has a lavender rose hue. Not much else is different from the pictures I've seen of swamperts, but the fact that the color is so different is enough to draw attention.

"I've heard about this," Timmy says. "That's a shiny Pokémon, right?" I'm not sure exactly how we got to the term _shiny_ during the course of Pokémon research and discovery, but it is the term used to describe a Pokémon specimen that is differently colored from the vast majority of a given species. It happens when a single gene in a Pokémon's genetic makeup mutates; the way it manifests varies, but it is most common for it to affect nothing other than the color of skin or hair.

Remy chuckles and says, "You're right; it is very rare, and more powerful than the average swampert. But if he's facing a Jin-trained Pokémon, I won't count my winnings just yet."

Regardless of what the computer chooses for me, Remy is right not to guarantee herself a victory. With all its strength and power, swampert is still vulnerable to electricity, as all grounded creatures are, which is a jolteon's primary source of power. But the computer doesn't select my jolteon—it selects my ho-oh, the rainbow Pokémon.

"Ho-oh?" Geoff says curiously. "Isn't that like a phoenix?"

"You tell me," I respond as I summon ho-oh.

Geoff's analogy is apt; ho-oh is a large, fiery bird whose dominant color is red. Its underside is white, but its tail feathers are yellow and prismatic, causing a rainbow effect every time it flies and earning it the nickname "the rainbow Pokémon." And it's no normal bird Pokémon; ho-oh is twelve-and-a-half-feet long and weighs almost 450 pounds. This is the legendary Pokémon who revealed itself to me at Navel Rock. I was there training when ho-oh appeared. I was startled initially by the size and power of the Pokémon, but it showed me its friendly, confident nature. By the time I began to leave Navel Rock, ho-oh insisted on following me. I knew that more often than not, a Pokémon chooses the trainer, and so I used Sundance's Thunder Wave to suppress ho-oh's energy while I threw an Ultra Ball. To date an Ultra Ball is the strongest energy-suppressing Pokéball that is mass-produced. I needed to suppress ho-oh's energy not because she consciously resisted my efforts, but because her unconscious power is so great that it takes a powerful ball to contain her. The result was a new Pokémon for me to train.

"Shiny swampert versus ho-oh," Emily comments. "This will be a good match."

Anfernee agrees, "Ho-oh is generally stronger, but it's weak to water, and that's swampert's natural element."

"Forgive me for being argumentative," I say, "but I prefer to think of this battle not in terms of theoretical Pokémon strength versus theoretical Pokémon strength, but as Ra versus…" I look at Remy to finish the thought for me.

"Trident," she answers.

Mayhan announces the oncoming battle of Trident versus Ra. This time, the odds are 2 to 1 in my favor. It's a big difference from the earlier battle. I think more people would be willing to bet on me now if we were allowed to do so.

When the battle begins, Remy immediately tells Trident to blast Ra with Hydro Pump. Trident closes her mouth and begins to inflate his belly, obviously preparing for a big discharge. Ra begins to push off the ground and take flight, but with her bulk, she can't move nearly as quickly as Musashi can. Trident releases a focused blast of water like from a fire hose and strikes Ra in the crest before she can get far off the ground. The concussive force alone pushes her over backward and the water drenches her wings, but her eyes begin to glow before she climbs back to her feet. Remy is relentless with Trident, desperate not to let Ra counterattack. She tells Trident to use Mud Slap; he sticks his moist hands in the sand as he charges at Ra and turns a lot of the sand to mud. Just before he jumps up and slaps Ra, my large phoenix releases a large quantity of chakra straight into the ground beneath her; the result is a wall of sand surrounding her and blocking Trident from making contact.

The use of chakra is something most Pokémon can do naturally. Some do it more easily than others, but most skilled Pokémon can do it with at least one elemental focus. Ra is a good example of having one elemental type of chakra: fire; Trident is a good example of having two elemental types of chakra: water and earth. Remy commands Trident to use Stone Edge; Trident channels his chakra into the earth element, and when he picks up handfuls of sand, he channels that chakra into the sand to harden it into large, jagged shards of stone.

The nature is chakra is difficult to understand completely as much study is still needed to teach us more. What I do know is that certain Pokémon produce chakra—a sort of kinetic energy produced alongside cellular energy—within their bodies and can use that energy to metamorphose molecular alignment into something new. The more difficult the metamorphosis, the more energy is required, and therefore the more adverse effect the Pokémon suffers. Transforming molecules of sand into molecules of rock, in Trident's case, is not terribly exhausting because the molecules are already similar, and so the process does not weaken him as he creates the matter necessary to complete the Stone Edge attack. He hurls a stone in Ra's direction with each hand, then grabs two more handfuls of sand to repeat the process.

Usually I don't say much during a battle unless I come up with a strategy my Pokémon would not likely figure out on its own. This is just such an occasion. I offer a command suggestion to my wounded phoenix:

"Use Whirlwind."

Ra is one of a species of Pokémon often given the designation of _legendary_ by many Pokémon trainers and collectors. Legendary Pokémon are different in a few ways: they are rare to point of being endangered, they are more powerful than most Pokémon, they live longer than most Pokémon, and they are often smarter and much more capable of interpreting commands in the thick of battle.

Ra responds very quickly to my command; she flaps her mighty wings twice, and the resulting wind drops all of the stones and protects Ra without requiring her to maneuver out of the way. Ra quickly follows with her own choice of a Flamethrower, just a stream of fire exhaled from within her breast. Trident is naturally resistant to fire, and so I tell Ra to use Sky Attack instead. Fortunately, the channeling of fire energy inside Ra's body also aids to raise the temperature of her wings and evaporate the moisture Trident provided with Hydro Pump. While Ra pushes off and climbs into the sky, I begin to recognize Trident channeling his chakra again.

"Hit her with Rock Slide!" Remy shouts.

Just before Trident can slam his powerful arms into the ground, he stumbles and appears to choke on his own chakra. The energy appears to backfire. Ra takes her time building sufficient height, then proceeds to dive at incredible speed, colliding with Trident and plowing him straight into the ground. At first, Ra looks as a limp pile of rainbow feathers on top of a giant salamander, but as stunned as that collision makes her, she's still moving. The battle ends when Ra sits back and starts preening herself, and Trident is unable to get up.

"What the hell happened?" Omar asks Remy. "I thought you had him."

"Ra did something," Remy says. "It interfered with Trident's ability to focus."

"It was Future Sight," I tell them. "She knew that Trident was a strong opponent who would continue to attack her relentlessly unless she struck back, and so she used a delayed psychic attack immediately after she first got hit by Hydro Pump." The essence of Future Sight is that Ra used a telepathic attack to plant a psychic time bomb that would eventually go off and disorient Trident the same way as if he were struck in the head.

"I never heard you call for that attack," Bernie says.

"I didn't. Ra made that choice by herself." It still strikes the others as an alien tactic that I let my Pokémon make their own decisions during battle.

I recall Ra into the Ultra Ball and step away from the arena for the next battle. Victor is the first to step up and congratulate me vigorously, which is weird considering how smug he acted toward me earlier. His words are perfect for someone who wants to seem impressed while hiding his insincerity. I can see in his eyes, though, that what he's doing is mentally comparing his Pokémon to mine. Why? He's got a scizor and I have a scyther, but does he actually have something comparable to ho-oh?

I get my answer soon. Victor's Pokémon is in the next battle, pitted against Bernie's groudon. Victor summons a lugia, a seventeen-foot, 450-pound Pokémon who some claim to be the polar opposite of ho-oh. Lugia looks like a plesiosaur—a large, marine reptile—crossed with a bird. Its body is silver in hue, but its underside is a dark red, and it has a sort of Lone Ranger thing going with black, mask-like eyes. This Pokémon is at least as rare as mine—also considered a legendary Pokémon—and biologically just as powerful.

Incidentally, the groudon Bernie summoned is a third Pokémon we've seen with the _legendary_ designation. It stands at an impressive twelve feet and weighs a whopping metric ton. Its body is covered in a tough, red, segmented shell with silver spikes protruding above every major spinal nerve. It resembles a giant armadillo, or perhaps a shelled beaver, especially with its over-sized tail that is the same width as groudon's backside; the tail also has spikes protruding from the sides and four armored claws at the end. Its face is protected by similar vertical plates from the top of the head to the nose.

I'm starting to revisit a thought I had earlier about this tournament…

I think everyone here has a legendary Pokémon.

* * *

_And so it begins. This is where I show how ridiculous I think it is to believe in the existence of only one specimen of each legendary Pokémon. I apologize if some of you think this is the same as looking into the face of God, but to me, legendary Pokémon are just rarer, stronger species._

_I know I started bending a few physical rules with this chapter, but at least I didn't break any completely. The idea of transferring energy into an object in order to alter its physical, and sometimes chemical, state is well supported in physics. I simply put the source of that metamorphosing energy inside Pokémon cellular structure. Don't be surprised if I decide to expound and throw around a few related twists in the future. I just didn't want to prevent any Pokémon from using rock-type moves unless it was in a rocky terrain like a mountain or a cave and the chakra thing seemed like a good compromise._

_As far as Pokémon nicknames, I obviously named the ho-oh after the Egyptian sun god, and I named the swampert after the item held by the Greek sea god Poseiden--I don't really remember why I did that one. Sometimes I feel silly with some of the names I come up with, but my mind automatically wants to give some significance behind names; mythology is an easy source. Wait until you find out the name I gave Lisa's other Pokémon (you already heard about Apollo, the blaziken). I think that's why I don't understand so many people resorting to Pokémon species names instead of using original(ish) names (e.g., calling a pikachu "Pikachu"). Isn't it confusing for a Pokémon when his or her name changes all of a sudden after evolution (like when Ash's charmander suddenly evolved into charmeleon)?  
As a note of coincidence, sunshine5991 gave Emily's espeon--who you haven't seen yet--the same name I gave mine on_ Pokémon XD _(i.e., Ruby). In my case, it was named after the Ruby Carbuncle from the_ Yu-Gi-Oh! _Trading Card Game because they look very similar. I doubt that was the case for sunshine5991 because few are quite the nerd I am, but the coincidence is interesting nonetheless._

_I also want to thank Happy2BMe and Imagination Domination for bringing to my attention a couple of typos in the previous chapter._

_I've already written the next two chapters, which brings me to a point about my writing method. I've been holding off until Sundays to post because I like being reliable. I'd love to hear some feedback from you regarding your opinion. Do you prioritize reliability or quicker updates? If I get sufficient petition, I might update sooner than Sunday._

_I love hearing people speculate about how a story is developing. Feel free to start guessing if you think you know what's going on._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	6. A Round of Friends

**A Round of Friends**

By the time the round ends, I'm certain everyone has a legendary Pokémon. My ho-oh's presence is further graced by the appearance of Deborah's articuno and battles between Victor's lugia and Bernie's groudon, and between Olivia's entei and Emily's suicune. All are powerful, "legendary" Pokémon that are so rarely seen by even the most famous and well traveled Pokémon trainers and researchers, yet everyone in our group seems to have one. Granted, I don't know for certain yet that the others have legendary Pokémon, yet somehow I still believe the probability to be whatever value comes immediately before one. As a statistician, I'm supposed to believe in the existence of chance coincidence, but the probability of any one of us having a legendary Pokémon is already so low, I just can't convince myself that this is anything except intentional. I'm convinced this shared trait was the key to our invitations. That explains how I was invited here despite having zero Pokémon tournament experience.

When the battles end, only Victor, Lisa, and Sunday are still undefeated. I'm still not sure how the scoring system works for this tournament, but if I haven't been eliminated yet and I won my last match, I can't be doing too badly. It's almost seven o'clock now and Mayhan announces that dinner will be served in the dining hall whenever we're ready. I am hungry, but more than that, I'm eager for a shower. I've spent most of the day in the sun—including expending great effort during our game of football—and although no one says anything, I feel rather self-conscious about how I might smell. Either I really don't smell too bad, or maybe everyone else is as self-conscious as I am and worries about reprisals if they mention anyone else's odor.

I separate from the other trainers for a while and head to my room. Before I jump in the shower, I open the balcony door, then I summon Musashi and allow him to rest and exercise in the room and on the veranda. I get undressed and put on a bathrobe I can only assume came from a hotel Zamia visited sometime in life. I grab a bottle of Holiday Inn shampoo from the desk and walk over to the bathroom.

As soon as I open the door, my sympathetic nervous system instantly engages. A purple, kite-shaped creature almost my size springs from the bathroom door even before I finish opening it. Five feet high and four feet wide; large spires visible from the sides; enormous, menacing, beady eyes with intense glare; a massive, rounded, red tongue wagging underneath the eyes; no body—the entire thing is its head, except for the two disembodied, three-fingered hands floating nearby. Every muscle in my body tenses as I quickly jump away and hurl the shampoo bottle. The world is as slow-motion to me while I watch the bottle contact the creature straight between the eyes… and slip straight through! The creature's forehead seemed to disperse long enough for the bottle to pass by and then reform when it was gone. This was an untouchable enemy!

Hang on. Calm down for just a second. I catch my breath and realize I've seen this assailant before… and he's laughing at me… I think. It's kind of a voiceless, wheezing sound. What kind of assailant does that? Obviously someone has a little trouble with discipline.

My "assailant" is actually a prank-prone haunter—a gas Pokémon. I'm not even a little bit sure how these gas Pokémon came to exist in the world, but somehow they have consciousness despite being entirely gaseous creatures. The fact that they have very little total mass and can disperse their body cells around solid objects—like my bathroom wall—is why people refer to them as ghost Pokémon. They aren't actually ghosts, but it is a fairly apt description; if ghosts were real, they'd probably be just a collection of air molecules with a consciousness. But the coolest trait of these "ghosts" is they can either spread their molecules to move through solid matter, or they can condense their molecules to make physical contact with objects. They don't have a lot of mass and so can't pick up really big items to carry around for extended periods, but it's easy enough for them to knock stuff off of shelves or to move small things across the room. The ability to get away quickly and unnoticed after such a prank is probably what makes this haunter so mischievous.

There's suddenly a knock at my door, which instantaneously makes me tense up again and prepare myself for defense. But the haunter is still floating right in front of me with renewed laughter and convulsions, so who's at the door? Probably the trainer who put his haunter up to this little prank. Before I can open the door, however, I have to tell Musashi to calm down and go back outside. He reacted when he heard me throw the glass shampoo bottle, but the haunter following me out of the bedroom isn't a threat.

I open the door with more force than usual, fully expecting to let our teenage competitor have it.

"Lisa?" She's standing outside my door almost looking a little surprised to see me. It takes her a moment for her eyes to look high enough to find mine.

She clears her throat and says, "I'm sorry to interrupt whatever you're doing." She looks past me and sees the haunter floating around the room. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I answer. And self-conscious. My robe came undone a bit when I attacked the haunter. I try to be subtle as I tighten the belt and make sure I don't reveal anything I wouldn't want to show off at the pool. "I was just going to grab a quick shower before dinner."

"Oh."

She looks somewhat awkward for a moment, but that doesn't last because we're interrupted by Fell. He looks annoyed and a bit harried.

"Have you guys seen my haunter?"

I nod and motion back into the room with my head, not that it was necessary; as soon as Fell uses the word "haunter," his purple ghost jumps right out from behind me and eagerly greets his trainer.

"Hatter! What the hell? I told you to stay put. That specifically means _don't_ go around scaring the crap out the other trainers." He sounds annoyed, but he's got a bit of a smile on his face. I want to believe him that he didn't send the haunter into my room on purpose as a prank, but he definitely thinks it was funny.

The haunter's still giggling, too. "He seems in good spirits," Lisa comments. She's referring to the fact that this same haunter lost a battle against Sunday's metagross not too long ago. Apparently, being composed primarily of gas makes Hatter recover from damage much more quickly than most Pokémon. Ra is pretty much fine after her battle, but she still needs a period of recovery from the nervous system shock that tends to happen when a body as hot as hers gets doused.

"He's always like this," Fell tells us. "Sorry." He grabs one of the haunter's hands and walks back down the hall toward his own room. Most surprising is that the haunter actually goes with him even though physical contact with it is negligible. I think the haunter actually likes its trainer, even if it does wander off once in a while. I was like that as a kid. My father used to think training me was tougher than training any Pokémon.

Now Lisa and I are alone again. When I look over to her, I catch her snapping her head up to make her eyes meet mine. She may have been trying to imagine me without the robe. I can hope, anyway.

In response to a query about her presence here and now, she says, "I was just curious if you'd want to join me for another workout."

I make a face and ask, "Is that wise? You lifted pretty heavily yesterday. Maybe you should wait another day before you lift again."

"Actually, today is cardio. I don't _need_ a workout partner for it. I just thought maybe you'd… want to go."

"Sure," I tell her with a smile. Maybe I'm interpreting the signs correctly after all. She approached me this time; that has to mean something. I tell her to wait for a moment while I put on a pair of shorts.

"A shirt, too," she says. When I ask why I need a shirt, she says it will help me focus better. I laugh because my brain interprets those words as, "I need to wear a shirt for _her_ to focus better." I get dressed in shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and find Lisa standing by the veranda talking to Musashi. He looks up at me curiously, like maybe I can explain to him why this strange person keeps talking to him while he's trying to relax and clear his mind for his next battle.

"I see you've met Musashi," I say to Lisa. Speaking to Musashi, I say, "This is my new friend Lisa. She's okay."

"Thanks," she says sarcastically.

"You're right, that was rude," I tell her. I look back at Musashi and say, "This is Lisa. She's tough as nails, the strongest and most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I might be falling for her." I look back at her and ask, "How was that?"

She smiles coyly and her face turns bright red. "That was a little over the top." She turns to the door and says, "Come on, before I change my mind."

I leave a plate of food out for Musashi to partake whenever he gets hungry and tell him I'll be back in a short while. Scythers usually eat lizards, birds, and rodents; for the duration of the tournament, however, Musashi is stuck with flavored Pokémon food brands provided by the mansion staff. (I would let him go hunt in the woods, but I don't really know what's out there and Mayhan told us at the first dinner that it was pretty dangerous.) Lisa's surprised I ever leave Musashi alone like this, but I tell her that part of Musashi's training is in meditation. I usually let him do that for a while before and after each training session, and again at the end of the day regardless of training. He doesn't need me with him to meditate, either. Lisa thinks my relationship with Musashi is pretty cool.

When we get to the gym, I pick out a treadmill and start warming up with a brisk walk. Lisa does the same on the next treadmill. Before we push ourselves to the point where I can't talk, I decide to ask her about her third Pokémon.

"Do you have a legendary Pokémon with you?"

She looks at me like I asked for her weight and measurements. "Why?"

I shake my head and hold my hands in front of me as if to hold her anger at bay. "I'm not interested in figuring out a weakness in your Pokémon. I'm just curious… for a theory I'm working on."

"What theory?"

"I think we were invited _because_ we have rare Pokémon. That's the best reason I can think of for how someone with _my_ record would get such a prestigious invitation."

Lisa doesn't respond right away; she appears to be considering the possibility. That right there tells me her third Pokémon is legendary. I don't bother to ask which one because although my curiosity is just that, she may interpret it differently.

She stops her treadmill and looks at me curiously. "Hey, are you warm yet?" I haven't started jogging yet, but I was just about to. She shuts down my treadmill, too, and says, "Let's go to the mats." In the back corner of the gym, I see a padded floor where the sit-up mats are set up with all the abdominal equipment. I follow Lisa and watch her push all the equipment out of the way. My first thought on the situation is a dirty one because I have no idea what she has in mind.

"What are you thinking?" I ask her.

When she finishes clearing the floor, she grins at me and puts her fists up in front of her. "Let's spar a little." She continues by explaining that she's been itching to spar with me since she realized I've endured martial arts training.

I was _way_ off.

"I'm a swordsman," I remind her. "My hand-to-hand combat skill is limited."

"Then I'll probably kick your ass," she replies simply. "Now come on. And don't you _dare_ hold back just because I'm a girl. Believe me, I'll know if you do."

I wouldn't disrespect her like that. When I spar with someone more skilled than myself, it's rude to give anything less than my best. It's been a while since I trained without weapons, but I try to think of it as just having a shorter reach. There's a world of difference in styles on offense, but the defensive basics are the same. I start by staring at Lisa's feet. The feet tell a lot. I can see which side Lisa will approach by the direction of her toes, and I can tell what kind of attack she'll use by watching the way her weight shifts on her feet. Keeping an eye on her hips tells me exactly what direction she's going to move; try as she might to fake me out by pointing her feet the wrong way, she can't move without moving her hips.

Lisa strikes first. She swings her right fist from up high—which I block effortlessly—but she immediately follows with an upward thrust from her left arm—which I also block—but I almost don't even see her right leg plant itself in my stomach. I manage to push myself back, but only after Lisa's attack hits me; all I did was reduce the damage I took. She chuckles that she hit me so soon, and even I have to grin at how impressed I am by her strength. She charges at me again and starts swinging rapidly and methodically. I'm only capable of playing defense moderately well; she manages to kick me in the ribs once and thrust her palm into my chest twice. I think I was inadvertently holding back just a little. I really don't want to hurt her at all, and I might still be tired from the football game.

I sit on the floor panting when Lisa backs off to catch her breath. She's laughing at me, and that gives me a second wind. I don't want to hurt her, but I want to impress her at least a little bit. I need to put up a better fight than I have so far. I put my hands together to form the ram hand seal and feel my own chakra flow through my body. I channel it into my legs to make me faster, then I get up and dash straight at Lisa. She's quick to respond, but now I'm quicker. She blocks both of my fists, but she doesn't see my left leg until it sweeps her legs out from under her. She hits the floor hard and I hold my fist to her neck.

"Yield," I tell her.

She makes a face and says, "No way." She grabs my arm, then pulls both her legs up and closes them around my head—this is both the sexiest and most painful thing she's done yet. Now she's got the edge on me again because I'm having trouble breathing, hearing, and thinking of anything other than what's right in front of my eyes. I try to pull her legs apart, but it's like being caught in a vice grip. I reposition my lower body—the only part I can still move—and grab Lisa's waist with both hands. She bats at my hands to make me let go, but that's not good enough; I plant my feet and lift her off the ground. It startles her enough to make her yelp, but she tightens the grip on my head. The act of slamming her on the mat was partially intentional and partially a necessary consequence of nearly passing out. She finally releases her hold and rolls over to stretch her back; I'm rubbing my head and taking deep breaths to restore my vision. It takes almost a full minute for either of us to say anything.

"You're not bad," she grunts to me. "Really quick."

"Thanks. You're better, though."

"It was a mismatch. You're not properly armed to take me on."

I'm tempted to accept her words to save face, but that would be making excuses. She beat me cleanly and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Eventually I regain enough energy to climb back to my feet. Lisa needs help getting up, though: Apparently she hyperextended her back trying to hold her grip on me while I threw her to the floor. I apologize for it and she snaps at me that she can take whatever I can dish out; I'm not supposed to apologize for sparring.

"Now I definitely need a shower," I comment.

"You should probably eat first," Lisa suggests. "You're liable to pass out if the water gets too hot."

"That's a good point," I realize. Then I come up with another plan. "Let's go together to the dining hall and get something to eat. That will help build my strength." And it will give me more time with Lisa. She agrees and leads me away from the gym in the direction of the dining hall.

On our way to the dining hall, one of the servants stops us and asks if there's anything he can do for us this evening. I tell him we're hungry and he says the dining room has already been closed for the evening, but he tells me what he'll do for us: He'll take any specific orders we have to the kitchen and bring the orders to our rooms. Lisa tells him to bring both meals to _my_ room. The man smiles obligingly and heads toward the kitchen.

"My room?" I repeated to Lisa.

She points to her back and says, "I figure I can guilt you into a massage." She doesn't need to make me feel guilty to get me to touch her. It takes everything I have not to do it now.

We get to my door and hear excited shouting and laughter coming from the next room. The door is wide open, but I don't even need to look inside to remember that's Bernie's room and to know that he's not alone. From voices alone, I can peg Geoff, Shawn, Jess, and Timmy inside. I glance briefly at Lisa, then motion toward Bernie's door. I figure he left it open for a reason. It works, too, because as soon as we step by the door, Lisa and I get spotted.

"Jin, my man!" Shawn says when he sees me poke my head in. "Come on in, buddy."

The others greet us, too, although Bernie and Timmy don't look away from the television; they're playing some first-person-shooter video game. Anfernee and Emily are in here, too. I either didn't recognize their voices or couldn't hear them from the hall. Geoff sees Lisa follow me in and says, "Alright, you brought a girl. Even better."

"Nice to be appreciated," Lisa says. "Even if it is for my chest."

"Ignore him," Jess says. "Geoff's happily married. He just likes women."

"Like you've never had a tournament fling," Geoff says to Jess, which causes her to blush a little. "I've never broken the rules. Women are just fun to look at. You can't blame me for that."

"What's a tournament fling?" I ask, not realizing my surprising level of naïveté.

"It's just like it sounds," Anfernee says. Well, it sounds like a one-night-stand kind of thing that spans the length of the tournament. I guess it's a way to keep warm company close by without long-term ties. I wonder if that's what Shawn and Jess have going.

Jess tells Lisa and me to sit down on one of the three couches they arranged to see the television. Anfernee and Emily are sitting together on one couch; they scoot over and we sit down next to them. I haven't used any of these couches yet in my own room. They are amazingly comfortable—the cushions fold instantly to the shape of my body, yet it doesn't collapse under my weight and force Lisa to sit on a slant.

"We're just hanging out and playing video games," Bernie says. "A chance to get to know one another and soften any losses we suffer during this tournament." That's not a bad plan. We can't all win every battle, and losing to someone I know and respect certainly makes it easier to accept. And I'd much rather battle with a bunch of friends than a bunch of random people.

"Mostly _they're_ playing," Emily counters. "I don't have a clue how to play."

"What's the game?" Lisa asks.

"_Halo_," Shawn answers. He describes it as one of the greatest video games ever created, and certainly one of the best for playing in large groups. It's capable of four simultaneous players and there's such a variety of levels and weapons between _Halo_ and its two sequels that a party can go on for weeks straight. I tell them I'll just sit back and watch for now. I sit back and realize I could easily fall asleep in this couch.

Lisa wakes me up by slapping my knee and turning her back toward me. Oh, yeah; she wanted a massage to alleviate the back pain I caused. I sit up and reposition myself to get a solid angle on her back. I start with her shoulders and slowly work to her upper back, and slowly down to her lower back.

Jess smiles at us and says, "It seems like you two are having one of those tournament flings."

"It's just a massage," I reply.

"Right," Anfernee says sarcastically—he obviously agrees with Jess. "You two are nowhere to be seen during dinner, then you show up here all sweaty and exhausted?" He remembers the twelve-year-old in the room and changes his tone. "What's _your_ version of the story?"

"We're martial artists," Lisa explains. "I wanted to see what he can do."

"I accidentally beat her up," I add playfully.

"Okay," Jess says. Her voice tells me she thinks the story is believable, but she also sees the chemistry between Lisa and me. She and the others only _think_ we're further along than we actually are.

A couple of the mansion staff members knocked on the door to my room, which I couldn't hear over the sounds of chattering, hollering, and gunfire in Bernie's room. Fortunately, they bothered to check Bernie's room when I didn't answer the knock. They brought Lisa and me our dinner orders, which we happily ate right then and there. (I was too hungry to care that it's rude to eat in front of others who are without food. The others really didn't mind, anyway; they just ate not too long ago.)

When Omar walks past the room in the direction of the residential area, Geoff and Shawn both start calling out to him to come join us. It's somewhat odd that he's alone considering how close he, Olivia, Remy, and Fell have been.

"What are you all doing?" he asks and steps into the room. He looks friendly and genuinely curious what the party's about, but he's hardly interested in joining us. I can tell by looking that he's more interested in whatever he's already doing; he just wonders what got the bunch of us gathered in one place.

"It's a _Halo_ party," Geoff says. "Just a chance to relax and hang out with other champion-level Pokémon trainers. You should stick around for a while. Go get Olivia and Remy and Fell."

"We were actually headed out to the beach to play some volleyball," Omar tells us.

"I love volleyball!" Emily says excitedly. "You need any extra players?"

Omar suppresses a chuckle and says, "We, uh… wanted to keep it two-on-two."

Emily grins at him the same way she was just grinning at me and Lisa. "Oh, okay. Well you guys have fun, huh?"

"We will," Omar says. He thanks us for the invitation, though, and says he'd like to join us if we do it again tomorrow night. Geoff says we probably will. I can't see why not. Although I do feel like a nerd when the focal point of hanging out is a video game, I'm also having fun just sitting and talking to everyone else. They're all so different from me, and yet they have warm, open personalities that allow me to feel comfortable around them. I even agree to take a turn playing the video game after a certain amount of urging. I experience a conflict of ability here: My senses and reaction time are sharp enough for me to see just about everything that's happening and to know exactly where to move to prevent my avatar from dying, but I lack the understanding of the controller and have difficulty making the moves I intend to make. As a result, I'm killed more often than not, but at least I do a little bit better the second time.

Our conversation in the meantime is not limited to speculation about Omar's group, but they definitely comprise the main focus. Perhaps foremost among the topics is the possibility of Fell and Olivia having any kind of romantic connection. I seem to recall Fell mentioning a girlfriend back home, plus the age difference is twenty-nine years; that just seems incomprehensible.

"I've overcome a difference that size before," Anfernee tells us. One thing that's certainly admirable about this guy is that I doubt I'd be willing to share information like that so readily. He has no problem informing us that he's been with a lot of women ranging in age from teenagers to early-middle age. I'm a little impressed by his skill with the sweet talk, but mostly I wonder if that ability doesn't also bring with it a certain loneliness; he strikes me as largely unwilling to commit to any individual woman. Maybe he was hurt by a woman when he was younger.

"What's everyone else up to?" Lisa asks, changing the subject from the relationship talk.

"Well, we've accounted for Omar's little clique," Emily says. "All that's left is Sunday, Victor, and Deborah."

"I know where Deborah is," Geoff says. "She's in her room trying to work with Penelope. I think she hopes that her blissey will be able to beat anything during its next fight, even if she has to face another steelix."

I remember that battle. It was probably the most one-sided fight we'll ever see at this tournament. A blissey is a five-foot-tall, one hundred-pound sumo wrestler in a dress without the body mass or the agility. Doesn't sound so impressive, does it? The real strength of a blissey is in its resilience. Its flexible skin, high fat composition, and light weight allows it to take all kinds of attacks with minimal damage, and its awesome stamina helps it keep going after just about every attack… unless those attacks come from a steelix, which is a big, thirty-foot-long snake whose scales are broad and bulky like boulders. It's remarkably lightweight for its size—only nine hundred pounds—but its outer shell is as solid as steel. It was hardly a surprise to see the steelix beat the blissey in battle. I felt a little bad for Deborah after that, but at least she redeemed herself when her articuno beat Anfernee's monferno in battle. Monferno is a fire-based chimpanzee, and typically fire-based creatures have a strong advantage over frosty creatures such as articuno, but Deborah's large, legendary bird was much stronger and had greater mobility in the air.

"I wouldn't be surprised if 'the Lady,'" Jess says sarcastically, "is trying to convince Mayhan she deserves the tournament title already. She certainly won't associate herself with anyone who lost a battle."

"I guess that means she's not interested in me anymore," I comment. Anfernee notes that she probably doesn't care about him, either. Victor is the only undefeated guy remaining. Shawn's electivire lost the first round to Remy's flygon, Timmy's starmie lost in the second round against Shawn's weavile, Omar's poliwrath lost in the second round to Jess's luxray, Bernie and Geoff and Fell are each currently winless, and I lost in the first round.

"You're better off without that old lady," Emily tells Anfernee, but she also glances in my direction, so I guess that comment could apply to the both of us. "What's the Victor up to?"

I put on an amused smile at the play on words, mostly because I can't believe how true to his name he's playing so far; he's been the victor of each battle so far quite handily. Even if Victor really is a prodigy, how could his parents possibly know that ahead of time? Maybe they just had high hopes for him… or it was a major coincidence.

"Who knows?" Lisa responds. It makes me very happy to hear that she doesn't care what he's doing. "Knowing him, he's probably doing much the same thing Deborah is: advising his Pokémon on how to defeat any of the Pokémon we've already shown him."

"That lugia of his is one tough customer already," Bernie points out. "Titan is the toughest Pokémon I've ever seen, yet that lugia Victor summoned beat him. And his scizor didn't seem to have a whole lot of trouble against Jess's gallade despite the sweet moves."

"There's no such thing as a perfect trainer," I say without realizing it.

Lisa giggles, and Anfernee says, "It figures you'd be the one to say that. Have you figured out what Victor's third Pokémon is?" Emily asks how we're supposed to know that already. "It's just like a puzzle," Anfernee explains to us. "So far he has two Pokémon that are nearly perfect corollaries to Jin's Pokémon. Knowing Jin also brought a jolteon, just figure out what Victor could have to match that. Maybe umbreon or something. The only assumption you have make is between whether you believe these two guys really are that much alike or if it's just a coincidence."

Lisa offers the opinion, "They are a lot alike, and I know Victor has a large variety of Pokémon because he's bragged about them before, including a whole bunch of eevee and a few luxray." She looks at Jess and says, "None of them is as impressive as yours, though."

She's referring to the fact that Jess's luxray is blind. I would have thought that was a pretty insurmountable deficit for a battling Pokémon—that's the kind of Pokémon you keep at home as a pet instead—but they say that depriving oneself of one sense causes the others to sharpen in order to compensate. Lita—the luxray—has especially sharp hearing that, when combined with wide-ranged attacks and a general aura of static electricity, allows her to detect any enemy before it gets too close. It was impressive watching a blind luxray defeat a healthy and strong poliwrath in battle.

When they're not playing the video game, Geoff and Bernie take turns playing around with a laptop computer. According to Geoff, the wireless internet access on this island is phenomenal—and obviously cracking the password was easier for them than it should have been, too.

"Check this out," Bernie says. "Our tournament is online." He shows us a bare bones website that lists each of the matches so far, the gambling odds, and the outcomes on an unimpressive site background. I can only assume the designer was lazy… or this is classified information.

"There's big money changing hands on this tournament," Bernie notes. "And get this: There are entire profiles on us." He shows us another screen. This screen has pictures of each of us and a curriculum vita of tournament championships—mine consists only of my choreography trophy with Musashi. There are also numbers on the screen, which Bernie explains are overall gambling odds for or against any of us.

"They change after each round," Bernie tells us. "Like this morning, the odds against Jin winning this whole tournament were about 500 to 1. Now he's still an underdog, but the odds against him are only 150 to 1."

My initial reaction is to be insulted by such long odds, but when I think about it, the odds against me should be long when I consider the experience levels of the other participants and realize these are not odds on any given battle, but rather are the odds against me winning the entire tournament. As confident as I am in my Pokémon, even I am not willing to bet on myself to win the whole thing so soon.

"How much information is on each profile?" Lisa asks.

"Your name, aliases, age, home, awards, the Pokémon professor who licensed you, and a brief biography. There's also a biography for your blaziken and lucario, but your third Pokémon is still a question mark because you haven't revealed it yet in the tournament." He reads the screen and chuckles. "I love the double entendre in your blaziken's name—Apollo. At first it only seems like the Greek god of the sun until someone knows your lucario's name is Balboa."

"I'm a clever girl," Lisa says dryly.

"_This_ is pretty cool," Bernie says. "The odds against you, Lisa, winning the whole tournament are only 56 to 1."

"Is she the favorite?" Anfernee asks.

Bernie plays with the computer for a moment, then says, "Holy crap, no! Victor is the favorite. The odds against him winning are only 10 to 1!"

There's a consensus among us that Victor must be even better than what he's shown us so far if he's favored so heavily. He's undefeated in his lifetime, he's favored for this, and he owns one of the rarest and most powerful Pokémon in existence. Is it his training? Does he have some method for his Pokémon that no one else has? And these odds… What do the tournament organizers know that we don't? I suddenly have a great desire now to battle against him. That may be the only way I can determine the source of his skill.

We spend another half hour both playing the video game and checking out the biographies on the tournament website. Emily finally declares that it is time for bed; sufficient sleep is necessary for us to stay healthy. She's right—it's eleven o'clock, and even though he claims not to be tired, Timmy finally agrees he should get some sleep, too. Lisa follows suit and says she'll see us in the morning. I manage to give her shoulder a little squeeze before she gets out of reach, but she does nothing more than say good night in response.

Maybe I'm wrong about the signs. At this point, I haven't got a clue how she's taking to me.

Anfernee offers to walk Emily to her room, and now it's just me, Bernie, Geoff, Shawn, and Jess in the room. I didn't want to ask this while Lisa was around because she didn't appreciate the question earlier, but now I ask the others, "Do you _all_ have legendary Pokémon?"

Bernie reminds me that we've all seen Titan, his groudon, and Jess reminds me about Ilya, her latias. I tell Shawn and Geoff my last Pokémon is a jolteon in case the extra knowledge what they're nervous about, but they tell me they trust me enough with the information: Geoff has a regirock named Exodia and Shawn has a darkrai named Resistor.

"You're thinking we were all invited because we have legendary Pokémon?" Geoff asks. He motions to Bernie and says, "Bernie had the same theory after he saw your ho-oh."

"Isn't that a little weird to you?" I ask.

"Not that weird," Bernie says. "People who sponsor their own tournaments can invite whomever they want based on whatever criteria they want to use. It's just how things are."

"No, what's weird," Shawn says, "is that the guy sponsoring this tournament hasn't shown up yet. We haven't even seen a video of him or something to placate us in the meantime."

"Yeah," Jess agrees. "I thought we'd actually get the chance to meet the famous Professor Zamia. I wanted to see what he looks like." Her words are common enough, but I detect an undertone of acceptance more than of disappointment, almost like she expected not to see him.

"You don't sound surprised," I comment. "What's Zamia's story?"

The group accepts that I'm rather clueless when it comes to the world of Pokémon—my tournament record speaks to that point. They tell me that generally trainers are licensed by experienced "Pokémon Professors" as they're called—researchers with degrees and certificates of Pokémon education that give them the authority to license trainers. When my new friends realize that means very little to me, I tell them I was licensed by a gym leader, which is another common way to do it. I leave out the details about my dad just because it's a whole other story I don't care to get into right now. Back on point, these Pokémon Professors do extensive research into Pokémon; just like human scientists, Pokémon researchers range in specialty from behaviorists to biologists to animal neurologists. Some professors even go so specialized as to study only one type (e.g., fire-types) of Pokémon—very few ever resort to studying only a single species, though they may tend to stay within a single family. (There are a few professors who only study the lineage and stages of eevee lives.)

"Professor Zamia is the world's leading researcher on legendary Pokémon," Shawn says. No wonder everyone else was less surprised to learn their cohorts possess legendary creatures. "He's the first one to discover the existence of Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina."

"Who are they?"

"They're Pokémon that live in another dimension," Geoff says.

"Here we go," Bernie groans.

"What?" Geoff replies combatively. I recognize the beginning of a conspiratorial conversation, one that Geoff obviously believes and Bernie does not. "They created the universe. Giratina created this dimension, Dialga controls time, Palkia controls space. Giratina also created another dimension where all three of them live."

This sounds to me like Geoff has more trouble with beer than a guy with his practice should. He and Bernie get into a squabble about the mythology behind these three Pokémon in which Bernie mentions the same question that first springs to my mind: Where did Giratina dwell before he created either dimension? Geoff didn't have a real answer. His best effort was to say that the creation of the universe is beyond our comprehension, like explaining chess to a two-year-old. A fair metaphysical comment, but I'm not convinced. It is amusing to watch Geoff and Bernie bicker like that, though. Jess tells me they always get like this on the creationism debate—that's generally why no one brings it up around them. I promise not to do so anymore.

With plenty to think about and a meditating Pokémon to check up on, I excuse myself and head back to my room for the night.

* * *

_The first thing I want to say is that the length of the chapter is only partially affected by the feedback I've gotten from you. A few of you mentioned liking longer chapters, and so I added some dialogue to an already lengthy chapter to make it a little longer. For the most part, the chapters are only as long as the story allows; I generally don't like putting in anything that doesn't contribute either to the plot or to the characters just for the sake of a long story. But you are affecting the story to a degree, so be proud of yourselves and your feedback if you are pleased with the story--smack yourselves if you wish I would "shut up and get to the point." The next chapter will be short; the thesis is accomplished in a shorter space._

_Last week I asked about posting chapters as they become available vs. reliable Sunday posts. I decided to keep doing it as I have; I frequently finish a chapter by Wednesday or so, but I wait until Sunday to post it. I tend to appreciate reliability (i.e., consistency), and so I will most likely stick to it. Like Jess (and her creator), I tend to be schedule-oriented._

_Regarding the size of the steelix, I kept the description vague because I haven't decided how I like it. If a steelix is the same size as an onyx in the anime (I stopped watching after the Orange Islands and have never seen a steelix on the show), then it should weigh_ tons _more; as it is in the Pokédex, I'm tempted to make it more like a giant anaconda. Steel is a fairly dense metal, and simple math explains that greater density means greater mass and weight. The point is: I kept the description vague because I didn't want to go directly against the size implied by the show (and the onyx grave in the Sevii Islands, depending on how you look at it)._

_One thing I want to bring up for the future (i.e., it has only been briefly mentioned so far in the story) is how unbelievable I find some of the Pokémon type-matching. Why are flying Pokémon more affected by electricity than others are? If they aren't grounded (i.e., the electricity has no way to exit the body), it shouldn't do much to them. Conversely, ground Pokémon are almost always grounded, and unless they are specifically composed of rocks or other inorganic matter, they should be_ quite _affected by electricity--definitely not immune to it. Does anyone have any thoughts on the matter he or she wishes to share? I rather enjoy these kinds of conversations in which we accommodate inexplicable phenomena._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	7. A Round of Exploration

**A Round of Exploration**

I recall Musashi into his Safari Ball and finally get that shower I needed. It feels good to clean off all that sweat I accumulated through the day. Now that I finally feel clean again, I can't think of anything but the bed. Well, I think about Lisa, too, but that's partly because she's the reason I'm exhausted and have a headache.

Of course life is always most interesting when you try to block everything out. To illustrate my point, someone starts tapping lightly on my door as soon as I lie down. At first I think it's just the door rattling from someone walking down the hallway, but then the tapping occurs again. Now it happens a third time, and I start pondering the quickest, quietest ways I can think of to kill someone. I finally get up and crack the door open. Bernie, Geoff, and Shawn are outside my door. My thoughts of murder subside, and so I decide to remove the irritation by asking what they want and what it'll take to make them leave.

"Hey, Jin," Bernie whispers. He's real quiet, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he has to say—even though there's no one around except for the four of us. He leans in closer so he can keep his voice down and says, "Can we come in for a second?" I really want to throw them out and get some sleep, but seeing the three of them look so nervous makes me curious; they're fully dressed—nothing resembling pajamas at all—which further makes me curious what they're up to. I allow them into the room and I shut the door behind them.

Bernie still keeps his voice down while he talks. Does he think the walls have ears? He tells me that Geoff figured out from the island's power grid that a massive amount of energy is being consumed on this island, and it's not all coming from the mansion. Geoff says the amount of energy being consumed would be enough to make the mansion fly.

"What do you want from me?" I ask. I know nothing about the mansion's energy policy and I know very little about electronics overall. My time is spent with Pokémon, nitojutsu, and reading scientific journals. If I were the one to discover the power surge, I'd ask the computer nerds and the electrical engineer to explain it.

"We want to go explore the island," Shawn says, "and we were hoping to convince you to come with us. We agree it's better if we have someone trained in martial arts."

I ask them, "You expect to run into many ninjas on this island?"

"Of course not," Bernie says like I'm an idiot. "There could be pirates, though." Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

I have no idea what they hope to find on this island—maybe a big, electric sign with an arrow pointing directly to the elusive Professor Zamia—but I figure they'll be safer if I go with them. Who sleeps anymore? It's a vacation, anyway. I tell them to wait here for me to get dressed.

In the bedroom, I consider the conditions when deciding what to wear. The temperature is high at night despite the tropical climate—the ocean currents consistently carry warm water to the island—making shorts an obvious choice. What I can't help staring at for a few minutes are my short swords. Another name for each is xiphos; they're identical, double-edged, and forty centimeters long. The blades, forged from steel, are shaped like leaves, wider in the middle of the blade than at the base or the point. How dangerous is this island going to be? Do I really need the extra protection? Grandpa trained me to prioritize vigilance; that means I take them just in case. I tie wrist wraps around my forearms and attach a couple of bracers—these let me hold my sheathed swords on the insides of my forearms while I walk. To keep them covered, I put on a thin, nylon jacket. Of course, I grab my Pokéballs, too.

I step back out of the bedroom and tell the guys, "Let's go."

The tricky part of sneaking around the island, I suspect, is sneaking out of the mansion. I seriously doubt the staff here would protest to us wanting a late-night stroll, but the fewer questions we have to answer, the better off we'll be. To that end, I lead the guys out past the gym—it gets locked up at midnight, meaning no one needs to be down here at this hour. Luckily, that turns out to be the case, and we slip outside the mansion without as much as a peep. It isn't until we get into the trees that any of us finally speaks.

"Need I ask why Jess isn't here with us?" I ask.

"She's not too keen on the idea of wandering through the jungle in the middle of the night," Shawn tells me. "She'd kill me if she found out I was going, anyway." Knowing what little I know of Jess, I'm pretty sure she knows already. If he brought it up with her at all, she'd assume it was something he was going to do—she was too smart to think otherwise.

"Are we heading the right way, Geoff?" Bernie asks.

"Definitely," Geoff says. "The surge is strongest in the center of the island. That's maybe another two hundred yards away." Two hundred yards doesn't sound like much when you just think it's the length of two football fields without end zones, but throw in thick trees growing so closely together you have to topple them just to get by, and take away all light because the vegetation even seems to swallow your flashlights, and the trek becomes quite arduous. The air is heavy, stale, and spicy. One whiff of jungle air will either clear your nasal cavities, or cause all your airways to close up. It's really hard to hear anything, too, between the howling of the monkeys and the buzzing of the bugs. Most of the latter seem incapable of flying around without ramming into my head as I disturb their homes. I take the lead of our group because I'm the strongest of us and have the easiest time pushing through the tree branches—but that's like having the easiest time swimming through a pool of tar.

"No wonder you brought me along," I comment. The guys admit this is a tough trip, but they only know the half of it; they get to walk through areas I've already opened up.

"Maybe we should summon some help," Geoff suggests. "A scyther sounds like a good choice."

"Only if you want to advertise that we were here," I reply. "It's bad enough that we're knocking leaves off the branches without completely plowing the trees over. We might as well light the path we take as we go. And if you want everyone to know where we're going, then you're just as well off asking someone what's causing the energy drainage."

"I guess that rules out having your ho-oh burn the trees down," Bernie adds humorously. Too bad his dry humor doesn't knock down trees.

After a half hour of walking, I estimate we've only traveled less than half the distance to our destination—that's how thick the trees are. The bugs are getting fiercer, too. It's getting to the point where I'm constantly swatting at my head to get them off of me. I can hardly push through the trees anymore; I don't have enough arms to push through and swat bugs at the same time. I lose my grip on one tree, and it whips back and smacks me in the forehead, yet the bugs keep poking at me.

"We need to turn around," I say to the guys. "This is too much."

I turn to start going back the other way, but the guys aren't even with me anymore. They're all a few yards back, gripping their heads and stomachs. They aren't making any noise I can hear and I can't see their faces, but their retching behavior tells me they are in significant pain. Were they stung by a beedrill or something? Maybe one of these bugs I've been swatting poisoned them with some kind of emetic.

"Can you still talk?" I ask them, hoping any one of them can respond.

"My head…" Shawn utters. "It hurts."

I decide we need to get out _now_. I immediately pull my Safari Ball and activate it; a stream of electromagnetic energy emerges from the mechanism and ultimately reshapes itself to reveal my scyther, who panics and begins clearing himself some elbow room.

I've never been able to figure out how Pokéballs work. They're devices the size of an apricot capable of transforming Pokémon into electromagnetic energy for storage, and then capable of reassembling the energy into the same Pokémon that went in. The technology is _way_ beyond my understanding, but Clarke said that any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic; this is one such example. I wonder who first figured out that an apricot could be used to capture Pokémon for storage, and what the hell did he think he was doing?

Musashi appears and instinctually begins slashing away at the trees around him. I signal for him to slash away at the trees in the direction of the mansion. My head is beginning to throb, and so I don't much care anymore who knows we were out here. I nearly have to carry Geoff and I have to lend a hand to Bernie; at least Shawn is able to hobble on his own through the path Musashi carves. All three guys fall to the ground retching when we get out of the jungle.

My earlier assessment was correct—we only made it about two hundred feet into the jungle when we turned around. I start to check out the guys and see what's wrong, but suddenly I'm very aware of _very_ heavy footsteps coming our way. Not only are they heavy, but they are very obviously coming from the jungle—I can hear leaves brushing against each other and branches snapping and crunching with each successive thump.

I look back at the jungle just in time for a large, bulky creature covered in white fur to emerge from the trees. It's difficult to be certain in the moonlight, but the shape of the creature is very similar to that of a linebacker. Is it a Pokémon? I wish I knew more about them—then I might be able to identify this creature right now. It's big—maybe six and a half feet tall and about three hundred pounds—and its fur is white, or maybe some off-white shade, shining with a soft glow in the moonlight. When it pulls its arm up over its head, I catch an extra glimmer of moonlight, which alerts me to the creature's claws. I duck slightly and slip underneath the creature's arm as it misses me with its wild slash. Immediately it whips around and avoids being cut in the back by a green blur.

How in the hell did it do that? Musashi is one of the fastest beings on this planet, yet this strange beast avoided his attack like he was a child with a stick. Before Musashi can recover, the beast turns around and slams its cannon-sized forearm into Musashi's abdomen, sending my poor scyther flying yards away.

I place my hands together to form the ram seal and get my chakra flowing, then I whip my arms sharply—the short swords slide through my sleeves just enough that the bracers no longer hold them and gravity pulls them toward the ground. I catch the handles in the palms of my hands, flip them around to point the blades away from me, and begin swiping at my assailant. I don't seem to do much more than scratch the beast's fur, though; its skin is obviously thicker than I anticipated. It launches a series of furious swipes at me, all of which I dodge with my quick feet. Finally the creature stops swinging and starts focusing its chakra; I can tell because the air around its body begins to darken. It pulls back for a slashing attack that I almost can't see in the darkness. I cross my swords just in time to block the creature's claws, but what I feel and hear isn't a single attack; it sounds and feels like my swords are being hit multiple times.

I'm forced to take a knee under the weight of the attack. My left leg is killing me now and my arms feel heavy. The creature rears back to let out a mighty roar, then it makes the initial motions of a heavy attack. It has to stop briefly to turn around and clothesline Musashi before he could attack again. How is this creature able to do this? I can barely see Musashi when he moves, and so many Pokémon has lost the battle because of an Assassin Strike, as I call it, yet twice this yeti has managed to avoid Musashi's almost flawless attack. It turns back to me and begins its power attack.

I quickly plant my swords in the sand, form the ox hand seal, then reach out and grab my swords with a reverse grip—my thumbs are closer to the pommels than to the blades. This move takes me less than two seconds time, but to me, it feels like ten minutes. I cross my arms over my chest, and then I immediately pull them back with as much strength as I can muster just as the creature's arm gets close to my head. I feel my arms start to lock up as the sword blades connect to the creature's arm in a scissor-like motion, but the extra chakra I sent surging through my arms gives me enhanced strength. In essence, sending chakra through my circulatory system lets me increase the size of my veins and arteries, thus vastly improving blood flow and the functionality of my muscles. It doesn't give me unlimited strength, but I can make myself a little stronger than two of me at maximum usage; at minimum usage, I can make myself strong enough to dull the pain in my leg.

After my scissor attack, the creature's arm is severed to the bone and becomes dead weight on the ground in front of me. I'm temporarily blinded when the creature's blood spurts onto my face, but the creature runs back into the trees in place of a revenge pursuit. That's lucky for me because it was much stronger than I.

I drop my swords to the grass and start using my jacket sleeves to wipe blood off of my face. I can feel my chakra shifting away from my arms again, leaving me feeling drained. The downside to using my chakra to improve my strength is that it causes my heart to beat faster and harder. Not only does it hurt once the adrenaline subsides, but it wipes me out. The only thing keeping me on my feet right now is a desire to make sure the guys and Musashi are okay.

"Geezes, dude," Geoff says. "Did you just fight off a slaking?"

"I guess so," I say just before I start coughing and trying to catch my breath. After a moment of panting, I clear my throat and say, "That was… different."

"I'll say," Shawn agrees. "I don't care how the tournament ends—you are the best battler I've ever seen in my life. A human who can stand up to a slaking?"

As impressive as it sounds when he says it like that, all I did was wound the beast and scare it off. If that Pokémon-yeti-thing stayed to keep fighting, I'm willing to bet it would've killed me in the next few attacks. Bernie makes a big deal out of the fact that I carry around swords with me, but I ask the guys not to spread that knowledge around, even to Jess. People may know I'm a swordsman, but there's no reason for them to know I brought a couple with me. In part, I'm embarrassed to practice such an outdated behavior as carrying swords, but I also don't want anyone thinking anything barbaric of me, such as I like hunting Pokémon with swords.

The buzzing around my head is gone now, too, and the guys seem to be back to normal. I gather my swords and climb to my feet. The pain in my leg is killing me more than I've felt in a long time; my limp on the way back to my room is much more pronounced than usual.

At two o'clock, I still don't get to sleep. I'm in my bathroom to clean myself off—fat lot of good that earlier shower did me—and wash my jacket to dry overnight. I use what's left of the vanity mirror after I broke it with that shampoo bottle earlier—stupid haunter—to check myself for wounds. I do have a cut on my left pectoral; I guess I didn't get away from that creature unscathed after all. I've also got many smaller marks on my legs where tree branches whipped me in the jungle.

The weird thing is this: There are no bite marks anywhere on my head: no bumps, no bruises, no rashes. My forehead is clear, as are my cheeks. I pull my hair to the sides to examine my scalp, but I don't have a mark on me anywhere. What about all those bugs that swarmed me? Maybe the poison hasn't had time to do anything to me yet, but there should at least be a mark, or something.

"What's going on here?"

* * *

_This is my shortest chapter since the intro, and I apologize for that, but this is a good example of what I meant when I said I write what the story allows. Much more would just be me rambling on for word count._

_Thanks go out to sunshine5991 and Imagination Domination for pointing out a minor typo and two big typos between them. The two that are worth bringing to your attention (I edited the chapter already) are: Jess has the luxray--not Emily; and though Emily has a suicune, Jess has a latias (I accidentally said she also had a suicune). Each trainer has a different legendary type in his or her lineup. I have no excuse for so many of my typos being incorrect names other than to say I'm not much better with names in real life; I really do try to catch these typos--I even wait a few days to reread the chapter before posting--but sometimes they just slip right through my mental filter and I have no idea why. This is why all my professional and cirriculum papers are proofread by other people._

_Next week the tournament rules change, and I hope to do it in such a way that none of you actually sees it coming; maybe you have suspicions, but you won't predict the actual events._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	8. A Round of Teamwork

_I hope everyone read Happy2BMe's comment regarding my previous chapter. She's not the only one to notice something amiss.  
_

* * *

**A Round of Teamwork**

The phone rings at seven o'clock with my wakeup call. I answer it from the Jacuzzi—I've been up for thirty minutes dressing my wounds and trying to reduce the intense pain associated with muscle stiffness. I don't remember the last time I had so much trouble moving.

Today's matches will be two-on-two, but not the usual two-on-two in which I summon two of my own Pokémon to battle two of my opponent's Pokémon. I'll only be responsible for summoning one Pokémon today; I'll be teamed up with another trainer at random who will summon the second member of my team. I don't know who my partner will be until the battle starts, but I already know who my Pokémon is—I only have one ally with me who hasn't yet seen the field of battle.

If _my_ wakeup call has already come through, everyone else must be up, too. I have a few questions about what happened last night, but I don't wish to bring it up with the staff just yet. I want to answer a few preliminary questions first, and there's another way to find information.

It takes Bernie four minutes to respond to me knocking on the door. He says he's surprised to see me so early in the morning, though I'm not sure why. I don't really care to waste time on small talk, but I do so just to be nice and keep any suspicions Bernie might have of me in check. I ask him if I may use his laptop for a few minutes; I want to find a small piece of information and it should only take me a few minutes. He allows it and shows me to the table where he has it set up. He leaves to take a shower, giving me ten minutes of time to myself to search for information on the wildlife of this island. When he gets out, we continue doing the small talk thing while I continue searching the internet.

My first concern is with the Pokémon slaking. That's what Geoff called that yeti creature that attacked me last night. Most of my knowledge of the various species of Pokémon comes when I meet one and then I do research after the fact, or when another trainer tells me about his or her Pokémon… and then I do research after the fact. Last night was the first time I ever saw a slaking, meaning I'm not even certain that's what it was; I just have Geoff's assumption as a place to start.

That slaking was strong, durable, and surprisingly intelligent. If I used that slaking as a representative example of slaking as a species, I might assume they are physically unstoppable and as energetic as a small child with a bowl of sugar. What I find online is a major contrast.

The first thing I find is an image of a slaking. Resembling a big, white ape, the beast last night certainly matches the picture of a slaking. According to the simple information I find at the Pokéwiki site, slakings tend to be incredibly slow. Even when enraged, a slaking is rarely capable of defending itself with successive motions because it can't think that far ahead. That's not even going into the fact that slakings are herbivores who only ever attack in self-defense. They tend to spend all their time in the shade under fruit trees waiting for the fruit to fall and, in the meantime, eating only the grass within arm's reach. They are even too lazy to climb the damn trees and get the fruit themselves. When a tree runs out of fruit or they end up eating all the grass nearby, they seem to begrudge the fact that they have to get up in order to move to another spot.

Whatever attacked me last night was no ordinary slaking. That thing moved fluidly and successively while it attacked me out of hostility. And it attacked _me_! Not Musashi, who was overall a much greater threat to it. Heightened strategy, mobility, and aggression… What does that mean? Maybe I should take another trip through the jungle tonight, this time without the risk of getting other people hurt. But this time Musashi won't be my only company.

"Not looking at porn, are you?" Bernie calls to me when he steps out of the bedroom and starts pouring a glass of orange juice from the fridge. "My wife checks my browser history from time to time. I really doubt she'll buy it if I say you did it."

I force a smile, but I'm still focused on what I just read. "You remember that animal that attacked us last night?"

Bernie uses a sarcastic rhythm and a dulled timbre when he says, "No, I don't remember that."

I smile. "Fair enough. My point is, I think Geoff was right about it being a slaking."

He decides to tell me about his first battle with a slaking. "I always thought it was lazy. Turns out it was just resting up."

"Strong, was it?"

Mimicking the motions with his fist, he says, "One punch cold-cocked my tauros. You know how much force is required to knock out a bull?"

"Not that much," I reply. "The nose is the most sensitive part of a bull's anatomy. One good sock to the nose is enough to stop an unruly bull."

He just stares for a moment in quiet surprise. He finally asks, "Why do you know that?"

"I've spent a little time on a ranch. A few cattle hands taught me that."

Bernie eventually shrugs off my random knowledge and asks me if there was something weird about the slaking that attacked us last night. I decide to tell him only part of the truth; I simply say that I wasn't sure what the creature was before I looked it up. Fortunately, it's rather easy to convince Bernie we shouldn't wander the island anymore. After encountering such a dangerous wild animal, he already decided the initial warning given to us about wandering from the mansion grounds was not to keep us away from anything, but to keep us safe. I might agree if I didn't think it was strange that a Pokémon on this island _just happens_ to exhibit a behavioral extreme when we're sneaking around the jungle at night.

Before long, Bernie and I meet up with the other trainers and head out for the beachfront arena; this arena was selected as the biggest one, and we'd need a lot of space to have four Pokémon battling at one time. The entire collection of trainers gathers just before eight o'clock, but Mayhan is running a little late—a stark contrast to yesterday when he was practically first to arrive. When he shows up, he apologizes and claims electronic difficulty—specifically a failure of his alarm clock. It takes him a minute to get the computer set up to select the trainers for the first round.

Somehow I'm not surprised by the selection: Sunday and me versus Victor and Lisa. Random assignment my foot.

"Well, look at that," Victor says as he puts his arm around Lisa's neck. "Looks like the old team is back together."

"Old team?" I repeat.

Lisa finally tells me, "Victor and I used to date."

Oh really? "Used to" meaning "recently"? Dated in what way? For how long? All these questions instantly swim through my head, but I don't give voice to any of them. I try not to let them slip through my expression, either. I hold back my disappointment and try to act like the news doesn't bother me. I doubt it's working too well.

"I met Victor in Cianwood City," she continues. "He was there to challenge the gym leader and I was at the gym learning a few new moves for my fighters. After he earned a Storm Badge, he stayed in town for a few extra weeks with me. He's actually the one who inspired me to start traveling."

"That's nice," I say. "Then this should be a good match."

"The odds are against you tremendously," Victor comments. "Not only do your jolteon and Lady Sunday's raikou have to contend with my bronzong, but also with Lisa's cresselia." He could afford to be smug because cresselia is a legendary psychic Pokémon and bronzong is part steel and part psychic with immense defensive capabilities. In contrast, Raikou and jolteon are both electrical Pokémon known more for speed than for power, but I think I still have a decent shot at victory because Sundance is not an average jolteon by any means. Dad trained him from an eevee since the day he was born sixteen years ago. Yeah, maybe he's a little old for a jolteon, but he's just as fast and energetic as ever, and that's reason enough for me to put faith into Sundance's ability. Besides, Sundance has a little bit of my training in him, too.

"I've beaten long odds before," I tell Victor, a little shocked I can't bring myself to be more humble. I force myself to shake his hand as a sign of respect. I shake Lisa's hand, too, but she gives me a mocking grin and says she "saw that." I don't know what she means. They both head to the blue side of the arena while Sunday and I head to the red side and summon our Pokémon to warm up.

"Don't screw this up for me," Sunday warns me. Such a charming woman.

It's just as well she has a nickname. If I call her "Lady" instead of "Sunday," it's less likely Sundance will respond by accident.

Sundance is a fox-like canine Pokémon that results from exposing eevee to the radiation emitted from a thunderstone. He's only fifty pounds and about two-and-a-half feet from snout to tail, has a white fur collar around his neck, and fur that—when rubbed the wrong way—has the sharpness of needles; this characteristic makes it tough to cuddle with jolteon as with other dogs. Normally jolteons have yellow fur, but Sundance's fur actually has a greenish tint. All the trainers take note of this characteristic and ask me about it, but my only explanation is that Sundance is a rarity not unlike Trident, Remy's purple swampert. Actually, I suspect that mutation in his genetic code is why he lived to be older than normal without suffering too many effects of age; the average lifespan of a jolteon is ten years.

Sunday's raikou Gunther is actually not terribly different from a jolteon on the surface, though from a taxonomic perspective, they are very distantly related. Raikou is like a yellow-fur tiger—almost four _hundred_ pounds and six feet from snout to tail—with black stripes in the design of lightning bolts. Its gray face has blue, X-shaped fur across the snout, and its head is capped by a black crest. It has a long, flowing, purple mane down its back, making raikou one of the most colorful Pokémon. I am not sure of the evolutionary advantage of such colors; it seems to me such colors would _alert_ potential prey to its presence and do little to facilitate camouflage. Most intimidating—at least to me—are the saber-like fangs sticking out over Gunther's lower jaw; I wouldn't want to get caught by those.

The bronzong—named Liberty—is a four-foot-tall blue bell with a hollow body; this is an example of a Pokémon species that only barely qualifies as a living organism. It's more akin to a machine that's self-aware. It doesn't actually grow in the same way organic creatures do and it doesn't reproduce traditionally, either. I'm not even sure how it eats. I only know its brain is basically a compact computer processor and that the rim of its bell provides a hover function that allows it to move without touching the ground.

Despite the popularity of my shiny jolteon, the _belle of the ball_, as it were, turns out to be Lisa's cresselia, named Seraph. Seraph has a five-foot-tall, two hundred-pound, blue, swan-like body with a yellow underside and two magenta tufts that arc across her breast. She also has a tuft of magenta feathers betwixt a series of yellow feathers that appear to form a crown on her head. Her final feature is more distinctive: She has wings on either side and one on her back in the shape of pink rings. Looking at her is like looking through a telescope at Saturn, except the splendor is more obvious because of how close she is. Seraph is a beautiful Pokémon—so beautiful that looking at her relieves a great deal of tension and makes me feel surprisingly relaxed. It's almost as if Lisa's calming spirit dwells equally within her Pokémon.

"You better be ready," Victor says. "Lisa and I have worked together before. Our teamwork skills are pretty amazing."

"Bring it on," I tell him. I have no idea why I just said that. It's very out of character for me. Apparently I'm losing the ability to hide my dislike.

The odds are set against the Lady and me, maybe because psychics are often considered the most powerful Pokémon in existence. Actually… now that I spend even ten seconds thinking about it, the odds are probably set because Victor is supposed to be the greatest trainer who ever existed. Never a loser, who wouldn't bet on him?

Well, _I_ wouldn't, but that's a different thing altogether.

The battle will be an interesting one, I think. Gunther and Sundance both specialize in speed, although they are pretty strong with chakra-based attacks; on the other hand, Seraph and Liberty both specialize in defense, though they do have their strengths. I guess it will come down to the intangibles: mettle and determination. And teamwork, I suppose. Gunther is busy snarling at Sundance, and Sundance simply looks ready to retaliate if Gunther makes a wrong move.

The first thing I notice when the battle starts is the yelling. Three people almost simultaneously shouting attack commands at their Pokémon makes this match one of the most complicated yet. This might be the toughest round of the tournament yet. Victor and Lisa are lucky enough to have worked together before, so I can't imagine it's quite as difficult for them to figure out the teamwork as it will be for the rest of us. On that note, the Lady is obviously not terribly interested in working together. She all but tells me to keep Sundance out of her way while Gunther wins this match for us; her Pokémon seems to share that preference.

Lisa's voice is the easiest for me to hear. "Trick Room!"

Seraph uses Trick Room, a chakra-based attack that changes the flow of energy in the arena. The result is Sundance slows down drastically and Liberty speeds up immensely. The effect doesn't last long outdoors, but it's long enough.

Victor's voice is much thicker and deeper than Lisa's. "Gyro Ball!" Sundance gets hit by a steel attack in which Liberty spins rapidly as it collides with my jolteon.

"Psychic!" Sundance also gets hit with an attack in which Seraph sends telepathic waves intended to disrupt Sundance's neural processes and basically give him a brain freeze-like sensation. Sundance looks like he took a big hit, but he's too stubborn to admit it; he tries very hard to remain on his feet.

Lady Sunday's voice is almost directly between Lisa's and Victor's in pitch and thickness, but she also has kind of a snooty, nasally voice. Altogether, the voices around this arena are quite distinct and so the Pokémon don't have too much trouble recognizing their trainers.

"Crunch!"

Responding to the Lady's command, Gunther uses the distraction of Seraph and Liberty's attack to bite down hard on Seraph's neck. Lady Sunday apparently took it literally when she decided to practice a "go for the throat" strategy. Unfortunately, Liberty is pretty quick on the response for a big, steel tube. It tilts itself onto its side and shows a collection of chakra inside its bell.

"Giga Impact!" Victor shouts. The suddenness with which Liberty responds to Victor's command is impressive. Liberty immediately expels the chakra it built up, and the blast strikes Gunther directly in the ribcage, forcing him to dislodge from Seraph's neck under the force of the attack.

Lisa calls out, "Moonlight!" Even though it's the middle of the day, Seraph seems to draw in energy from the air around herself and seal over the bite marks, vastly reducing the damage she just sustained and returning a fair amount of her vitality. I think it's the solar energy she absorbs, which explains why the technique is more effective during a sunny day than at any other time. Gunther could use a move like that, especially now that Liberty plants itself on the ground and begins to channel its energy directly into the ground.

"Earthquake!" Victor cries out. That could be bad. The ground begins to shake as far away as I stand, even as far as where Bernie and the others watch the battle. Seraph is fine because she is capable of whirling its rings to hover over the ground. But even a raikou has trouble with moves that alter the ionic charge in the ground. By transferring energy into the ground, Liberty increases the positive charge, which then causes an imbalance between Gunther and the ground. Electrical energy starts flowing straight from his feet into the ground, generally causing his own electricity to backfire and burn his muscles.

Hah! Suddenly the earthquake stops when Sundance pounces on Liberty and releases his own Thunder Wave. Maybe now the Lady will see how much more helpful it is to use teamwork.

Sundance was trained by my father, and I've learned to let him run on autopilot in Pokémon battles most of the time because that's the way Dad used to do it. He tends not to pay attention to my commands because he gets confused if he listens to everything that's shouted during a battle. My role is usually to pay attention to the commands my opponents use and interrupt Sundance only when I discern a pattern he won't notice on his own.

That's why I'm paying such close attention to the commands Victor uses. Like now he told Liberty to use Gyro Ball again. The big bell reengages its hover ability and starts spinning slowly.

"Gyro Ball! Knock him off!"

See? I bet his plan is to spin rapidly enough to disorient Sundance again and leave him open for an attack. Of course, Sundance is smarter than that. He lets Liberty spin by himself and instead disappears at hyper speed to go double team Seraph.

Wait… What? How did I know what Victor and Liberty were planning to do before Victor gave the command? Maybe Liberty had the same plan and simply started its move before Victor could vocalize it. That's pretty likely.

But hold on. Didn't Liberty start to use Earthquake before receiving the command, too? Yeah! It definitely planted itself on the ground and started vibrating _before_ Victor said something. I'm pretty sure it did, anyway. This phenomenon confuses me. Now I'm even happier that Sundance doesn't need my help out there because I can't seem to pay attention to the battle itself. I just focus on the fact that Liberty seems to be faster than Victor.

What's going on? Am I experiencing some cognitive lag between interpreting audible stimuli and visual stimuli? Am I somehow just seeing things faster than I can hear things? Why did it happen right now? Am I really that tired?

Or is it possible that I'm experiencing some sort of extrasensory perception? Can I sense what Liberty is capable of and therefore know what it's going to do before _it_ does? That seems way too far-fetched, yet almost logical to me right now.

Maybe I need a nap after this round.

Sundance is obviously the target of Liberty and Seraph's teamwork. I guess Lisa and Victor figured getting rid of the more common Pokémon first would make it easier to take down the legendary raikou.

"Psychic!" Lisa calls out. "Hold him still!" Seraph uses another Psychic maneuver, but instead of trying to hurt Sundance, she simply holds him in place while Liberty channels energy into his bell again. I'm very careful this time to notice that Liberty starts channeling energy _before_ Victor shouts, "Flash Cannon!" At least I can rationalize this one: Lisa said they've worked together before, so maybe Seraph and Liberty _specifically_ worked together before. They might remember some of the previous strategies they've used.

"Thunder Fang!"

Suddenly Gunther pounces on Seraph once again, this time shocking the poor swan as her attacker bites down into her neck. The shock forces her to lose focus on her Psychic attack. The very _instant_ she releases her hold on Sundance, he uses a Quick Attack to get out of the way of Liberty's Flash Cannon.

"That was not teamwork," the Lady tells me dryly. "That was me recognizing the usefulness of having a decoy." Charming woman.

Holy crap! Even _I_ have to leap backward to avoid getting hit by the Flash Cannon. I jump out of the way, but then the energy hits some invisible wall—like a Light Screen—and dissipates before it gets past the walls of the arena. How did that happen? None of the Pokémon on the field stopped to protect me, and the referee didn't summon anything. Was this arena just built in such a way as to close off the grounds during a battle? I should ask about that.

The Lady looks at me and scoffs, "Idiot. Rain Dance!" Yeah? Well, you sound like a harpy when you scream. That would probably be more effective if it were true or if I said it out loud; now just doesn't seem like the time to pick a fight with my battle partner.

I get back up, and one look across the field shows me that the battle is winding down. Everyone is tired, and even drawing in solar energy isn't enough to keep Seraph looking pristine. Maybe that's because clouds rolled in very suddenly just now. Is that rain? I thought it wasn't supposed to rain until tomorrow afternoon.

And now I feel like an idiot. I forgot that some Pokémon can influence the weather. Gunther doesn't have actual control over precipitation, but by releasing a large number of charged ions into the air from the "storm clouds" on his mane, he can cause the atmosphere to shift, and clouds accumulate to begin thunderstorms. Those ions also cause the clouds to saturate, and the movement of water molecules inside the cloud causes them to grow until gravity takes hold and pulls them toward the ground. It won't be a long-lasting storm, but it's good enough to block out the sun and prevent Seraph from absorbing many more solar rays.

But then again, Seraph is a legendary-class Pokémon, and she proves it with her powerful Ice Beam. Some Pokémon ingest foods that, when broken down, leave behind nitrogen gas, which is then compressed into a near-liquid state and stored—a lot like a refrigeration system. When that gas is released into the lungs to be exhaled, contact with the air makes the gas decompress rapidly; the result is the absorption of all heat in the surrounding environment. The temperature varies with the Pokémon species and strength, but the average is a whopping _negative_ forty degrees! Heavy protective gear would be required for a person to survive it unharmed, and certainly a weak Pokémon tends to go down in a single blast.

Luckily Gunther's got too much energize to freeze, but lowering his body temperature so rapidly is still hardly the best thing for him. Just as Sundance lunges to Bite Seraph while she's distracted, Liberty latches onto him with some Extrasensory power and slams him into the ground.

At Lisa's command, Seraph continues her assault on Gunther with a Psycho Cut, which involves whirling her wings at tremendous speeds and striking the wounded opponent; the attack tends to leave behind lingering cognitive effects, weakening Gunther's ability to battle. The first time his forelegs give out and his chest hits the ground, he shows his frustration by releasing a powerful Discharge that doesn't seem to target. All Pokémon on the field are struck by the discharge, and even the Light Screen surrounding the arena becomes visible in order to protect us trainers.

Liberty and Seraph were each wounded by the Discharge, but Gunther is the worst for wear; such a powerful discharge relinquished much of his strength, and he needs a few minutes of rest to restore it. Although wounded, Seraph doesn't seem eager to let Gunther rest. She struggles to get upright, and Lisa calls for another Psychic attack.

I think now is a good time to get involved.

"Sundance! Shadow Ball!" Sundance hears my voice and agrees to follow my request. His chakra begins flowing and rotating in his mouth. Finally he rushes at Seraph and releases the energy directly into her breast. Coupled with Sundance's power, Shadow Ball—a ghost-type energy attack—inflicts enormous damage on Seraph. She flinches, and so Sundance automatically follows up by pouncing. In addition to dealing damage with his Bite, his fur—which often stands on end during a battle—also pierces Seraph's skin like a collection of Pin Missiles. After this triple assault, Seraph hits the ground and slowly closes her eyes as she passes out.

Liberty is dead-set on helping Victor live up to his name. Sundance is plenty tired and distracted from attacking Seraph, and so Liberty has little trouble sneaking up, even with its slow speed. It imprisons Sundance by hovering over my tired Pokémon and planting itself around him like a cage.

"Crunch!" the Lady shouts at Gunther, but the raikou has trouble getting up and can't seem to attack Liberty just yet. He exhausted himself with that discharge; ironically, that is what gave Sundance a second wind. Jolteons are almost all able to absorb electrical energy and metabolize it as strength for themselves; when Gunther's electrical Discharge hit Sundance, my jolteon was able to absorb that energy and convert it into a few more attacks. Gunther is clearly worn down even if he isn't unconscious yet, but I already know the fight is over. What kind of genius uses a steel Pokémon to imprison an electric Pokémon?

"Giga Impact!" I see now. Victor's plan was to trap my fast-moving Pokémon in one place and hit him with an attack he can't dodge. But the air is already charged with electrical energy, and Victor seems to realize his mistake only after it is too late. Although it may be inorganic, a bronzing still has processors that can be electrically overloaded. It's hard to tell, though, because I don't know where to look to find Liberty's eyes, and he's just sitting there covering my jolteon. It isn't until Victor recalls his Pokémon that I know for sure Liberty is done. My poor jolteon lies on the sand, exhausted by his efforts and ready for a long nap. I recall him into his Pokéball and leave the field when the referee finally declares Lady Sunday and me to be the winners.

Victor grudgingly accepts his defeat, but it was not singular; Lisa's Pokémon was also defeated, and in the end, Sundance passed out from exhaustion. Although technically a victor in the fight, Sundance was ultimately beaten. No Pokémon was left standing at the end of the match, although Gunther stills seems to be trying. It's probably a good thing that battle ended before these Pokémon killed one another… or themselves.

My new friends make a big deal about Sundance's power and performance, but they might as well be Charlie Brown's teacher for all I can hear them say; I'm too tired to make a big deal about a Pokémon I already know is incredibly powerful. Dad never raised a single Pokémon that didn't have all-star potential, and Sundance was already named in the Periodos Hall of Fame when he was only two years old. I'm proud of him, don't get me wrong, but it's not news to me that he can defeat Pokémon that are theoretically among the strongest in existence. He's even taken down a dragonite.

"That was a good match," Lisa tells me afterward, finally agreeing with my earlier assertion. "It's not often you see a jolteon with Shadow Ball."

"A move tutor taught him," I say vaguely. Move tutors are people who earn money by teaching techniques to Pokémon. They tend to be especially knowledgeable in Pokémon biology, and they use that knowledge to teach Pokémon how to channel their chakra into new moves. Some are able to help Pokémon expand abilities they already have, but the most skillful tutors are able to teach moves that require a form of chakra not normally generated by the Pokémon; such an example would be teaching my electric jolteon how to turn energy into a whirling, ghost-like force.

Some time ago, someone known as the "Move Guru" or some such urban nonsense realized that instead of going through the sometimes-long process of _teaching_ a Pokémon how to use a new move, maybe a Pokémon's DNA could be recombined to facilitate the use of new techniques. Pokémon biochemical researchers took DNA from various species and, through a lot of research and technology currently over my head, figured out how to give Pokémon a simple injection to alter its genetic makeup. Afterwards, a technical machine is placed over the head, and it sends signals that stimulate the brain in such a way to create a new neural pathway. Like something out of _The Matrix_, the Pokémon suddenly has the knowledge necessary to use a new technique. This practice also give Pokémon access to a wider variety of moves than traditional tutors have the ability to teach.

When Lisa asks me why I would bother spending the time for a tutor to teach a ghost move to an electric Pokémon, I simply shrug and tell her, "The option was there. I figured, why pass it up?"

"Well, it certainly paid off today. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Lisa is honestly a fascinating creature. She just lost a round of the tournament—her Pokémon being taken down specifically by mine—yet she's even friendlier to me now than she has been yet. Her training has obviously rewarded her with real discipline and humility; she's very competitive, but she can handle a defeat gracefully.

Victor does not share this trait; his disappointment is almost tangible. He sits off in the back of the group, not talking to anyone except himself; his expression is one of thorough disgust and his arms are constantly flailing like he having a frustrated conversation with himself. Lisa tells me he once placed first in the Kanto Elite Four Tournament and defeated three members of the Elite Four before he finally suffered his very first loss—that all happened when he was fifteen. I guess that's why he's so upset to realize he was capable of losing to someone like me, though I'm going to give credit to my father.

"Maybe I should talk to him," she suggests. Why? I have little respect for sore losers. Losing builds character. I really don't want her to talk to her ex-boyfriend—I want her to pay all her attention to me—but this is actually a good time to go speak to Mayhan about something. I've noticed I tend to fixate on Lisa when she speaks to me to the neglect of everyone else.

Mayhan looks a lot better than he did when we got out here. Maybe watching a good battle helps him relax. He activates the computer to designate the next two-on-two match-up: Omar and Shawn versus Anfernee and Remy. This one is an all-legendary battle, pitting a rayquaza and darkrai against a heatran and zapdos, respectively. As soon as he calls up the trainers, I try to talk to him about last night. But on the verge of chickening out, I start out with a more harmless question.

"Where's our host, the good Professor Zamia?" I ask him.

"The Professor got caught in some unexpected, urgent business in Aurum City," he explains, "but the battles are video-recorded so he can keep updated on the progress." He looks at me with a big smile and says, "Don't worry. You'll all get the chance to meet him before the tournament ends."

"I heard no one has ever actually met him before," I say. "Are you sure we will get the chance?"

"I understand your doubt, but Professor Zamia personally hand-picked the sixteen of you to participate in this tournament, and he's not a man to waste his time."

"No. I suppose not." Maybe this is the best time to bring up my breaking the rules of the grounds. If Zamia's not around, he'll probably not see the damage Musashi and I did, and the odds are slimmer of me being punished.

"I have a question about the island," I say evasively. "I went for a walk in the jungle last night and got attacked by a slaking. I'm pretty sure that's what it was, anyway."

His face almost instantly pulls into an expression of near terror. "My dear boy. Are you alright?"

Boy? No one's called me that in a long time. I'm not huge, but even when I was eighteen, I looked like an adult. This old man is a hell of an actor; I almost feel like I should back off and apologize for wandering into the jungle at all, even though being attacked wasn't something I could have predicted.

But if Mayhan is really concerned about me, then why do I feel the need call it an act? It was brief, but I think I caught a flash of disgust across his face the instant before he appeared horrified. He recoiled ever so slightly when I mentioned the slaking, leading me to think he's just humoring me at this moment.

After I say I'm fine and that my scyther protected me, he explains, "That is the precise reason we ask everyone to stay on the mansion grounds. Some of the wild Pokémon on this island do not appreciate unfamiliar sights, scents, and sounds. They tend to react harshly and have even killed a few staff members in the past."

I try throwing in the added detail of Musashi removing one of the slaking's arms—if Mayhan's going to lie to me, why shouldn't I lie back?—but he simply replies, "Do not worry. We have other research specimens. The important thing is that you and your scyther are each in one piece."

Is he kidding me? If someone came to _my_ private island, broke my rules, and severely handicapped one of my Pokémon, I'd be pissed off. I'd probably disqualify him and send him home immediately. At the very least, I'd dock the guy a lot of points from the tournament's grading scale. Why is Mayhan willing to shrug it off right now?

And why is he lying about it?

* * *

_This chapter came out longer than I thought it would. I hope the battle is good enough to sate you all for now. It occurred to me while trying to write it that I can't do two-on-two battles. (Anyone notice that I pretty much left Musashi out of the fight with the slaking?) It took me a week and a half to write this battle, and I'm still not happy with it. I can't write much of a battle if I can't see it in my head; it's hard enough for me to see a one-on-one fight in my head without trying to throw two more battlers into the mix. And I might have to do some more later in the story...  
I'm done ranting now.  
_

_Anyone figure out what's going on yet?_

_For the record (I don't know if I'll mention it later yet), the other battles went thusly (according to my random number generator):  
Bernie and Fell defeated Geoff and Olivia; Emily and Jess defeated Deborah and Timmy; Shawn and Omar defeated Anfernee and Remy  
_

_Science disclaimer:  
I exaggerated the effects of Rain Dance. The basic theory holds that shifting the ionic charge of the atmosphere can conjure up storms, but there is no way a creature at ground level could release enough of a charge to cause that severe a reaction. But I figure if the mythos states raikou's mane comprises storm clouds, then I'm allowed to bend the rules a little for that legendary sabertooth.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	9. A Round of Reminiscence

**A Round of Reminiscence**

When the morning battles conclude, I grab some food and take Sundance down to the beach with me. We set up a place to rest in the sun for a while. Sundance is without wound right now, but he's pretty tired. I stroke his face and head a few times, but I won't rub the rest of his fur—not after seeing it tear into that cresselia's feathers the way it did. It's just as well; Sundance isn't all that social. After I rub his face, he finds a nice little spot in the shade at the edge of the sand and curls up with his paw over his nose.

Personally, I like the feel of the sun right now. I whip my shirt off and lie back on the sand. I put some sunscreen on this morning, and I'm too lazy right now to go find more. I just want to lie down and relax for a bit. I don't think I can get back to my feet right now without help. Now I can see every wound I accumulated in the past couple of days; the cut on my chest has sealed over and I have bruises on my stomach, left side, and chest—one of the pectoral bruises is about the same size and shape as Lisa's hand. I didn't realize she hit me so hard.

I don't intend to fall asleep, but I can tell that my body is trying to. I should probably get up and get the blood flowing again to keep me up and focused, but I just don't feel up to it. Why do I need to focus so badly, anyway? Mayhan's lying to me and there's at least one energetic slaking running around in the jungle. That will still be true even after a little nap.

"Looks like you and I think alike."

It requires moving my hand in front of my face to block the sun, and all I can see is a silhouette of a slim torso, but I eventually recognize Emily setting up a towel on the sand. From down here, all I can really see is that she has amazing legs all the way up. She sets up just a couple feet away from me, but she's not alone. The footsteps in the sand tell me she has at least two of her Pokémon with her. I manage to get a better look and see she actually has all three: Opal the delcatty, Ruby the espeon, and Sapphire the suicune. Sundance is back in the shade with his head and ears perked up, curious to know anyone and everyone who's around.

"What happened to you?"

Maybe talking to her will help me stay awake. "What do you mean?"

"Those bruises," she clarifies. "Did Lisa do all of that to you?"

I lightly run my hand over the scratch on my sternum and say, "The bruises are her handy work from that sparring match last night. This one… is just an example of my personal experience in battle, and a good example of why I don't fight much anymore."

"It looks fresh," she says. "Did you get in a fight with Victor?"

_What?_ "No. Why would you think that?"

She chuckles and says, "It's pretty obvious you don't like the guy—probably because of his relationship with a certain other attractive, obviously-strong trainer."

"Am I really that obvious?"

"No," she says. "You actually hide it pretty well. I'm just really good at reading between the lines. Unless you're talking about your thing for Lisa; _that_, everyone can see. The way you hang on her without actually hanging on her makes it pretty obvious. The twinkle in her eye after you beat her this morning says she's interested, too; otherwise she would have been upset to lose. I'm surprised you two haven't hooked up yet."

Well, _that_ cat's out of the bag now. No use pretending otherwise. Besides, maybe Emily can give me some insight into women I haven't realized yet. "I'm having trouble reading her signals. Sometimes she seems interested, but she pulls away a lot."

"Sounds like she just wants you to up the pursuit a little," she suggests. "Some girls just like it when a guy can't keep his hands off of her. You know, I'm surprised a guy who looks like you has so much trouble with women. You're pretty hot for an older guy."

"How old do you think I am?" She giggles and says she was just kidding around. My age doesn't concern me, though. I simply explain, "I don't have trouble with women who _care_ that I look the way I do, with the cut abs and edgy scar."

"Ah, I see. It's those women of substance who give you trouble."

She's silent for a moment, but just before I doze off, she asks for help putting sunscreen on her back. I hate the idea of exerting any energy right now, but I manage to get enough strength in one arm to push myself upright. After I spread some sunscreen over Emily's bikini-clad back, she offers to return the favor; I spread a little extra sunscreen over the rest of myself just to make sure I don't burn. It hurts even to touch my leg, and that train of thought ultimately brings me to thinking about last night. Emily lies in the sun quietly while her Pokémon run around the sand and in the surf, leaving me time for my mind to wander.

A part of me really wants to know what's hidden in that jungle. Geoff said there was a massive power surge in there, and I'm inclined to believe that slaking that attacked me wasn't a wild Pokémon, but someone else's way of keeping me out. Why else would it pursue me so relentlessly without provocation? And the fact that Mayhan lied to me about it all suggests that he knows about whatever is hidden in there, and he _really_ wants to keep me away.

What if there is no Professor Zamia? What if Zamia is a figurehead for the island, and Mayhan is, in fact, the guy in charge? Maybe that's why no one has ever seen Zamia before; he's a completely artificial ego created for purposes of name recognition only. It certainly fits, given Mayhan told me we'd get to meet Zamia before the tournament ends; if Mayhan _is_ Zamia, it would make his statement true already.

If I'm going back into the jungle, I'd rather do it during the daylight hours. I can see better what I'm getting into with some sunlight. And it'll be without anyone else to slow me down this time. I'd do it now if I didn't feel so weak. I doubt I could take much of a _walk_ through the jungle without feeling adverse effects from yesterday, even if I were lucky enough to avoid coming upon a vicious slaking—even a one-armed one. But all kinds of problems that pop up when I think about going into the jungle. Maybe I'll get time to do it tomorrow, perhaps if I awaken especially early and try it at dawn… That way… I can rest up…

----------

_Man! Making my way to the top of Navel Rock is no picnic. I can't remember the path Grandpa took to get up there. I recall it being easier when he was with me. Why did I decide to do it again? Isn't there a stairway or something inside the mountain?_

_It's because you're trying to discipline yourself, you genius. What's more disciplined than climbing a mountain by yourself? The buzzing behind me reminds me that I'm not completely alone. The giant, praying mantis I found in the Safari Zone is flying behind me like a flying three-year-old sticking closely to his older brother. The damn bug spent the entire ascent zipping up past me, stopping on the mountainside to get a good footing, then watching me climb._

"_That's right, you dumb bug. Just… ugh… sit there and watch. Don't try to heelp… or anything." I guess I should stop talking while I climb. Not like a Pokémon can understand me, anyway. I'd pull out that Safari Ball from my pocket if it didn't require removing one of my hands from my Spider-Man position._

_Finally! The plateau at the top of the mountain. Now I can catch my breath and rest my aching muscles. There is no better workout for the calves and wrist extensors than rock climbing with full mountaineering gear. The first thing I do is drop my equipment in a pile and secure it. I don't remember it being so cold up here. The chilly air seems to contradict the ash that blankets this part of the mountain. I'm sure it was a lot hotter last time. This isn't supposed to be a volcano, but it is generally warm. I guess this just one of the colder days. Maybe I'll keep my coat on while I meditate._

_I'll give Musashi credit for one thing: He seems to be learning pretty quickly. I don't have to grab him and force him to sit anymore. As soon as I seat myself in the lotus position, he follows suit, flitting next to me and seating himself in a duplicate position. He even closes his eyes and relaxes his whole body when he sees that I've done the same._

_Now I forget all about Musashi, Grandpa, Dad… I envision the chakra running through my body empowering my heart and opening my arteries. I feel warmer and stronger as blood flow improves and nutrients flow throughout my body. I can see the chakra flow through travel from my heart across my chest, around my shoulders, and all the way down to my fingertips. Then it circles back up to my heart, and flows down my torso, cycling through my kidneys, down through my legs, and finally to my toes, only to cycle back up in to my heart. The final trip is up through my chest, rising through my neck, and into my brain._

_My mental clarity improves and I begin to see things even with my eyes closed. Musashi isn't completely motionless. His wings flicker once in a while, and I can see each twitch of his body as he breathes. I think I can even see the air flow in and out of his nasal cavities._

_Suddenly the wind shifts drastically. The temperature of the mountaintop rises despite the altitude. The wind comes in powerful gusts, and I can hear feathers thwacking high overhead. They come with large wings and a body with as much mass as mine and Musashi's combined. When I open my eyes to determine if the descending being is friend or foe, my vision is swarmed by prismatic colors, like a rainbow springing from one end of the mountaintop to another. The sun is blocked out for a long moment when an enormous bird leads the rainbow over my head to the other end of the plateau._

_I instinctively reach for my weapons as the bird perches itself rather smoothly on a rock. It looks a little clumsy as it turns itself around to get a good look at me and my cohort. This is a large, red bird with a golden crest that matches its golden tail. Its eyes have black rings around them like a raccoon's. But the most intimidating this about it is its size. This thing is three times my size and just reeks of confidence and power._

_But what it doesn't do is show many signs of aggression. It keeps an eye on both Musashi and me, and it is definitely the source of the rising temperature, but other than looking ready to bite me if I tried to get close, it doesn't seem too eager for a fight. I have no desire to fight directly with a Pokémon, and I know Musashi isn't a fan of fighting anything that generates its own fire. I think I'll keep an eye on the bird, too, but I don't think we'll have a problem with it._

_Anyway, now that I'm out of my meditative state, it's time to get exercising. Musashi is awake, too, not that I could tell if he actually meditates to begin with; I just have to assume. We begin the same way we always do: stretching. Musashi basically mimics my motions, but god knows how much of a stretch he's actually getting with that exoskeleton. That phoenix keeps staring at us, maybe still undecided whether to attack. This might be its nesting grounds, though I don't see a nest right now._

_I can't help moving a little slowly during warm-ups, what with that twenty-foot bird staring at me like I'm a mouse scurrying across the field. I'd be willing to bet my short swords and Musashi's blades are enough to protect us… unless that bird really is a phoenix, in which case killing it would probably do very little good; it'll just "rise from the ashes" anyway. That would make for an interesting challenge for a bug Pokémon._

_On the upside, Musashi is finally starting to catch on to the Swords Dance kata that Grandpa and I choreographed. He's still a little choppy while he copies my movements, but considering his behavior and action a month ago, he's made giant leaps. He's definitely more agile than I am and much, _much_ faster, which makes me a little jealous. I wish I could move like he does; it would make the jumping-spin-slash maneuver much easier. I'd be able to jump higher, too, with just a little flutter of the wings._

_When I feel sufficiently warm and we've run through three kata, I point a blade at Musashi. He takes a moment, but he recognizes this gesture as an invitation for a sparring match. He pushes the blade aside and lunges for me; I quickly duck and use my other blade to deflect the stab he uses when he predicts my ducking. I sweep my leg out at his, but with a quick hop and a flutter of the wings, he rises well above my leg. He lands a few feet away and sets his feet, giving me a chance to set mine, as well. Then we both close the gap simultaneously as we begin slashing and stabbing left and right._

_We still can't spar at full speeds yet. Sparring with Musashi is a lot like choreographing a dance; we need to know and predict one another's moves in order to prevent us from hurting one another badly. Musashi has cut me a number of times, but the cuts were never anything deep and hardly anything scar-forming. Still, we can't go full speed until he gets to the point where he _never_ cuts me. I'm there already, but to be fair, Musashi has an exoskeleton that makes his outer layer significantly more difficult to cut than mine is._

_What's interesting at this point is the discrepancy in the behavior of that big bird over there. When I started sparring as Musashi's opposition, the bird started shifting for almost two full minutes, like maybe it was debating whether to attack me in order to protect Musashi… or maybe it wanted to eat my pet mantis and thought its best chance was when Musashi was distracted. Either way, the bird has calmed since then; I wonder if it actually understands that I'm not trying to hurt Musashi. Is that possible—for a Pokémon to develop that level of understanding so quickly?_

_My heart rate is pretty high by the time I best Musashi in our duel. He's getting better, but I still have a few years of life experience on him. As limited as I am in my studies of entomology, I'm still pretty certain Musashi is only a year and a half old. By scyther standards, he's a young adult, just like I am. I'm actually impressed how much better he's getting and how quickly; I honestly didn't think Pokémon could learn that quickly. Maybe one of these days, Musashi will actually be better than I am._

_It's time to go now. I pack up my things and start reequipping my gear. As soon as I put on my pack, the enormous bird that's been staring at my training session squawks loudly—it sounds like a loud cacking noise. It's got a hell of a shriek; it scares the crap out of me, and I've stared eye-to-eye with guys who'd give Bruce Lee a workout. What really frightens me, though, is when the bird hops off its perch and it starts heading toward me. It's generally walking, but it looks frantic and so uses its wings to push itself toward me faster. My muscles tense and I drop my pack, but I can't get to my swords quickly enough. The bird is three times my size; it's like being run down by a house._

_Musashi seems to have a similar reaction to mine. He jumps back and begins fluttering his wings quickly enough for him to take flight. His wings move at hummingbird speeds, allowing him to hover in place as he watches the approaching predator to see what the next move is. But the bird isn't after my scyther; it comes for me. My eyes dart back and forth across the plateau, noting the positions and angles of all the rocks and ledges, my brain trying to calculate all the escape routes depending on where the bird moves next._

_It stops just a few meters in front of me—the one maneuver I didn't predict. I hold my position for a moment to see what it'll do next, but it doesn't move any closer. And when it squawks again—it's more like a chirping sound—it doesn't shriek this time. The volume is greatly decreased and the intensity has died back. That's a sign that the bird isn't acting on predatory instinct. I think maybe it just wants me… to stay?_

_On a total whim, I extend my arm cautiously toward the bird. It cranes its neck down to my hand and touches me gently with its beak. Maybe it isn't eager to hurt me, and it doesn't have its eye on Musashi at all. Is there even the slightest chance this bird is saying it wants to come with me? I can't imagine why, but maybe it will respond if I ask that question out loud._

"_Are you coming with us?"_

_The bird tilts its head in response to my words—a pretty universal behavior for curiosity. I reach into my pack and remove a Pokéball. I try motioning toward the bird with it, as if maybe that will help. I wonder if Pokémon even understand the purpose of a Pokéball. The bird twists and turns its head quite a bit as if to look at all sides of the Pokéball in order to figure it out. Maybe I can give it a try. I have an Ultra Ball with me—supposedly the most effective mass-produced Pokéball—although it still strikes me as richly bizarre that something the size of a racquetball can contain all the mass of this twenty-foot bird._

_Hang on. Is this bird bleeding? I keep my eye on its head in case it changes its mind and tries to bite me, but there is definitely a cut on the bird's left leg. A big one. It's mostly sealed over, but that is one nasty-looking wound. Maybe this bird was using its wings to help it walk because it _can't_ walk by itself. If this Ultra Ball works, I should take an extra trip to a Pokémon Center and see if the vet can help out a little._

"_Don't be alarmed," I warn the bird as I engage the Pokéball and release my father's Pokémon. A greenish fox with fur as sharp as needles emerges from the energy that was once contained within the Pokéball, a phenomenon I don't think I'll ever get used to. Sundance is pretty accustomed to seeing new faces, and so he sniffs the air a few times and takes note of the giant phoenix in front of him._

"_Sundance, we're going to try to 'capture' this _bennu_ bird here. See if you can use your Thunder Wave to suppress some of that excess energy it's giving off." Sundance starts generating electricity within himself, then he emits a small stream of electricity that, because of his proximity to the giant bird, connects to the bird instead of being pulled toward the ground. The bird flinches and appears to be in pain, but it doesn't fight back. Actually, the purpose of Thunder Wave is to weaken and potentially numb the recipient's body, meaning the bird shouldn't feel much._

_While its immense chakra is being suppressed, I hurl the Ultra Ball. The black and yellow ball cracks open as soon as it makes contact, and its magic is released to turn the Pokémon into electromagnetic energy for storage. All I have to do is watch and wait for the ball to stop wriggling; that's the sign of a Pokémon's submission and acceptance of a trainer._

"_**Ah, ha, ha, ha…"**_

----------

"_We are simply testing the limits of Pokémon plasticity. Vivisection is not limited to physical alteration. Evolution is constantly weeding out characteristics of humans and Pokémon alike, extraneous characteristics we now view as meaningless weaknesses." I gaze upon the horrified visage of the ho-oh caged before me. Despite the pain of the equipment pinning her in place, she continues to snap viciously at the source; I am certain doing so does nothing for her except to increase the pain. How could I not appreciate the beauty of such a determined creature?_

"_This magnificent beast will mark the way toward my ultimate goal."_

"_**No!"**_

----------

I awaken abruptly, frightened and sweating profusely.

"Hey!" A sudden stream of sand poured over my face and mouth would have awakened me had I not awoken only an instant prior. I begin coughing and convulsing immediately; the sensation of drowning tends to do that to people. I jerk awake to find Emily squatting beside me. She's wearing a light-blue T-shirt and tight blue jeans. I'm guessing that's not her late-afternoon swimwear, which means it's getting late. "Sorry about that. You need to get up, though."

I must have hit REM sleep; I still feel paralyzed while I try to sit up despite my moment of panic. It takes a great deal of effort to get my arms up to rub my eyes and stop everything from looking blurry. According to my watch, I'm supposed to be at the garden arena in a half hour. I guess I'd better get moving a little faster.

"Thanks for the wakeup call," I tell Emily. "I guess I was pretty far out there."

"I'll say. That must have been some dream. Any chance there was an attractive Pokémon trainer involved?"

"Not this time. I was just remembering when I first met Ra."

Sounding confused she repeats, "Ra?" She quickly remembers the name. "Your ho-oh! That's cute. How did you meet?"

"You know all those martial arts movies with the wise old ninja master going to a faraway mountaintop to train himself: mind, body, and spirit?" She nods. "Well, that was my grandfather, the ninja fisherman. He lived in the Sevii Islands, and he took repeated trips to Navel Rock as his training spot, fishing both ways. He got too old to keep making the trek up the mountain, but I went a few more times without him and just got lucky; Ra happened to be there one time, and she wanted to go with me."

"That's sweet. Now hurry up. The next round is about to start!"

I put on my shirt and pull Sundance back into his Pokéball. "I'm coming."

But what was that other part of my dream? That certainly wasn't part of my capturing Ra. In fact, I don't remember that happening at all; I never saw Ra in a cage even once. If dreaming is supposed to be part of the brain's way of consolidating memories, then what the hell was that?

* * *

_At times, this chapter probably seems like filler material, but I promise it isn't. This chapter is the first time I felt like this was a real story. Jin is finally taking control of the story away from me. I didn't know this chapter needed to be written until Jin told me to do it. I know that sounds weird, but it just means that the story is starting to write itself._

_I think at this point, with the addition of catching a Pokemon, I've included a description (such as it may be) of each major aspect of the games (except evolution). If anyone knows of something I missed, let me know._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	10. A Round of Battle

**A Round of Battle**

"Today's concluding round will be unique from the previous battles," Mayhan tells us. "The computer has paired you with an opponent, but it has not chosen your Pokémon participants, nor will you choose as in a typical battle. Instead, your opponent will select which of your Pokémon will compete."

This is new for me, but so was the tag team match. It's certainly an interesting prospect, picking which Pokémon to battle against. I guess this is where a person's personality comes into play. The obvious decision is to choose the opponent's weakest Pokémon because that weakness grants you the best chance of success. Some people may not prefer to feel relief, however, and might get more satisfaction out of facing the opponent's strongest creature, although that brings into question the trainer's sanity and arrogance, depending on the chosen opponent. I'd be surprised to see any legendary Pokémon during this round, however; who wants to send their regular Pokémon up against anyone's legendaries?

Omar and Anfernee are selected to participate in the first match-up. Omar is given the first opportunity to select Anfernee's battler. This is an interesting decision. Anfernee will already know which Pokémon he gets to summon, and that could affect his decision as to which of Omar's Pokémon he wants to face. Omar chooses Fury, Anfernee's monferno. It's a sound choice for a man who seems to want the easy route. Monferno is a Pokémon that is considered _unevolved_ and therefore not as strong as it might be one day. Speaking strictly by the numbers and not considering any intangibles, monferno should lose, depending on who he faces.

Anfernee doesn't take long to consider Omar's Pokémon before he selects the steelix Basilisk—named for the legendary snake with the ability to petrify its prey. I guess that's what I'd choose, too, if I used fire Pokémon. The steel snake will have some weakness to the fire element even if it comes from a statistically weaker opponent. A visual comparison makes Basilisk the easy favorite: segmented scales as hard as steel, thirty feet long, ten feet around, and nine hundred pounds. Fury, on the other side, is covered in brown fur, three feet tall, fifty pounds, and lacks much hind leg strength. Fury is an interesting specimen, with a blue crest around his eyes like war paint; his most intriguing feature is that unlike many other fire-type Pokémon I've seen, he can manipulate the flame spouting from his tail at will. He can extinguish the flame to sleep or walk around normally, and he can spread the flame when he feels threatened to make himself seem larger and more intimidating.

But during the course of the match, I don't really care about the fight. It's intriguing to watch other trainers battle, but I've got too many other concerns on my mind. What I want to know about these two is how they interact with their Pokémon during the fight.

I start by staring intently at Basilisk during the match. He's slow overall, but his head is capable of snapping forward at whip-like speeds. When Omar calls for Dragon Breath, it takes about five seconds before Basilisk exhales its paralyzing gust of airborne chakra. When Omar calls for Rock Tomb, it takes only one second for Basilisk to process the command and try to coil itself around Fury. When he calls for Iron Tail, it takes three seconds for Basilisk's chakra to add a shine to his tail before he swipes it at Fury.

When I'm satisfied with Basilisk taking commands, I turn to Fury. When Anfernee calls for Flame Wheel, it takes one second for Fury to ignite his entire body and another two seconds to build up momentum for a spinning attack. When Anfernee calls for Taunt, it takes only a second for Fury to start smacking his butt and screeching in an attempt to upset Basilisk and throw him off his game. When Anfernee calls for Mach Punch, it takes less than two seconds for Fury to slam his fist into Basilisk's neck.

I feel like I've figured out the flow of their battle now, and so I decide to watch how it ends more closely. Fury has already taken quite a beating because of his smaller size. Basilisk is also taking a beating, but he's bigger and has more stamina. He's able to hit Fury with the point of his tail like a scorpion strike—a Stone Edge attack. When Fury's entire body bursts into flames, I think maybe Anfernee pushed him too hard; it looks like his own flames are going to consume him.

But then he gets up. The monkey, who was already pretty quick on his feet, now seems to get faster. The flames make him quicker and seem almost to empower him to a degree. I can feel his chakra flowing more readily through his body now, like maybe he doesn't have full control over his ability, but it starts to show when he's sufficiently injured. His heightened speed helps him avoid Basilisk's next attack and climb onto the snake's back. Anfernee calls first for Close Combat: Fury strikes Basilisk quickly and severely at the back of his head. Basilisk manages to throw him off, but before he can fully recover, Anfernee calls for Flare Blitz, and Fury essentially tackles the snake straight in the face. Basilisk hits the ground hard, and the effect is exacerbated when the flames consuming Fury's body spread like wildfire. Only when the monkey lets go and steps back to relax does the fire die down.

The referee—who also seems surprised by this turn of events—announces Fury as the winner. Anfernee and Omar recall their Pokémon, shake hands, then walk to the onsite nurse who examines Pokémon after a battle. While she's checking out Basilisk's condition, Omar's group of friends approaches to see if he's okay. That was a tough loss and I understand if he's disappointed by it. That brings Omar to two wins and two losses, the same record Anfernee now has.

I watch the next fight the same way. Jess decides she wants to face Geoff's weezing Pesto—apparently a nickname for Pestilence rather than a tribute to the Italian sauce—probably because he's statistically easier to beat in battle than either a garchomp or a regirock. A weezing is essentially two koffings who merged during "evolution." I'm not sure where koffing or weezing came from originally, but the rumor is they were created in a factory in order to absorb toxins from the air. Unfortunately, they sometimes _release_ toxins, as well, and so are much more rarely seen as trained Pokémon except by people who can appreciate the utility of absorbing and releasing airborne toxins. Pesto is four feet tall overall, and because it is largely a gaseous Pokémon, it only weighs twenty-one pounds. A skull-and-crossbones logo develops on weezing's purple belly; it was probably genetically designed to do that as a warning of its potential hazard.

Geoff chooses to face Lita, the blind luxray. A luxray is similar to a lion with black fur and blue skin, but being female, Lita has a shorter mane than average. She's around four-and-a-half feet long from snout to hind legs, but she's terribly skinny at only 120 pounds. A luxray's ears tend to be more rounded than a lion's, and the tail ends with a yellowish, star-shaped patch of fur. The thing luxrays are most known for is their eyesight, which is also Lita's ironic weakness. Whereas a fully healthy luxray can almost see _through_ objects, Lita can't see at all. She does have a radar-like awareness of her surroundings, however, because of her other senses compensating for her deficiency. That's what makes her such an interesting choice as a battling Pokémon.

From Shock Waves and Poison Gases to Thunder Fangs and Sludge Bombs, I pay closer attention to the lag between commands than I do to the actual battle. Geoff sometimes slurs his words but Pesto seems to understand him okay, and his actions always start _after_ Geoff gives the command. The same is true of Lita; she always _responds_ to Jess's commands instead of anticipating them, although I notice she seems to have a much quicker response time. I almost feel bad for Jess that she underestimated Pesto; it's news to me that a weezing can expel all kinds of poisons—not just pollutants. Emetics, paralytics, and depressants are all possible toxins for a weezing to expel, and all things that can severely impair the senses of a Pokémon already relying on only four senses. Jess was right to assume the ions in the gas would conduct electricity right back to Pesto, but she didn't realize those same ions would cause Lita to shock herself and that shocking Pesto forced him to release his more dangerous toxins unintentionally.

Geoff wins the fight, and then he tells Pesto to absorb the poison from Lita's body, something I never really thought about. I know weezings can absorb airborne particles, but I didn't know that some of them are even skilled at reabsorbing substances that have been absorbed through the skin. That's certainly a relief for Jess and for the onsite nurse.

Shawn and Olivia are up next. He wants to battle her heracross because a giant beetle is much more beatable than a dragon, and she decides to battle his weavile because it's smaller than an electivire, and generally smaller means weaker in a brawl. Olivia is down to one win and two losses, which certainly explains why she's so interested in facing the weaker opponent. Shawn is up two wins to one loss, but for the moment, that leaves him in a seven-way tie for second place. That so many of us are tied is probably why almost everyone is going to want to face the weakest opponent possible.

Heracles the heracross wins the battle through brute force and good timing… and a little luck—a well timed Megahorn sends Bandit flying and the landing a Close Combat attack immediately after landing. But more important than the result is that both Pokémon reacted to their trainers' commands with a little bit of a lag. I couldn't tell what they were going to try before the trainer gave a command. There's no instantaneous response or preparation of an attack before the command was given. As strong as these Pokémon were in battle, they are still normal Pokémon.

The next battle is between Fell and Bernie. Bernie is convinced he's got a better chance of beating Hatter—that same mischievous haunter who scared me so I broke my bathroom mirror—than either a lucario or a latios. He could be right; haunter is also not yet in the final stage of development, suggesting it could be fairly beatable assuming Bernie gets to summon a Pokémon capable of attacking Hatter at a cellular level. Sunday was able to beat him before using her metagross's psychic abilities. Unfortunately for Bernie, Fell gives himself a _huge_ advantage when he chooses to face Cockatrice, the fighting breloom.

The fight is hardly worth commenting on. I admire Cockatrice's efforts in trying to inflict damage upon Hatter, but just as I experienced when I threw that shampoo bottle, no physical attack can hurt a ghost Pokémon.

"Use Stun Spore!"

Bernie is very apt in realizing that perhaps his best chance of defeating a gaseous Pokémon is to disrupt the animate particles by numbing them. Cockatrice shakes heavily and releases a cloud of spores that blanket the sky. I notice once again that the spores seem to hit an invisible wall around the field to protect us.

Lisa explains, "That's pretty typical in order to protect the trainers. They have generators in the base of the arena walls that simulate a Light Screen kind of thing. It's based on the same technical machine technology that teaches Pokémon how use the Light Screen technique. Can you imagine how hard it would be for either of these guys if that Stun Spore numbed them, too?"

That's a good point. Even more important, I think, is what would happen if a human were hit by a Flash Cannon.

The Stun Spore doesn't seem to do much to Hatter, though; I would guess it's because the spores are too big to affect Hatter at the cellular level. Or maybe Hatter's body composition is such that the spores just failed to attach to any of the molecules that make up the ghostly body because of all the empty space. Whatever the reason for the failure, Hatter is still floating around easily, maybe even giggling.

"Use Hypnosis," Fell tells him. The Haunter looks at his trainer for a moment, then glares back at Cockatrice. I can feel the energy emanating from the gaseous body as short waves of energy pulsate through the air and disrupt Cockatrice's hormonal regulation. The fungal kangaroo slows significantly for a moment, caught up in its sudden drowsiness, and promptly falls unconscious. He lies on the field on his side with his head resting on his hands.

Cockatrice hasn't even been asleep for ten seconds before Hatter swoops in close and reaches out with one of its disconnected hands. Cockatrice remains asleep, but his face shows an expression of pain and he begins to toss and turn. It looks like he's having a Nightmare.

"Yeah, Nightmare," Fell says, finally catching up with his Pokémon's attack. "Now use Dream Eater." Hatter changes the flow of energy with his hand. Having already afflicted Cockatrice with nightmares, Hatter begins drawing energy _from_ Cockatrice as well.

Honestly, I'm not sure when, exactly, the battle ends and Cockatrice is unable to battle. As if the Nightmare didn't hurt him enough, that Dream Eater really seems to have taken it out of him. The referee steps in and ends the battle about the same time Cockatrice no longer seems bothered by his nightmares; that's probably when Hatter's technique lost effect and Cockatrice went from drowsiness to nearly comatose.

Geoff laughs and mocks Bernie for losing so handily, but he eventually reminds Bernie that the type match-up left him pretty much without a chance of winning. When Fell comes off the platform, I notice he's got an extra bruise showing at the base of his neck; it disappears beneath his shirt, but I can tell it's a big one. I approach him quietly and try not to make a big deal out of it.

"Are you okay?" I ask him. He tries to cover his bruise, but he already glance at it, suggesting he knows what I'm talking about.

"I'm fine," he assures me.

That's an awfully curt response. No attempt to explain it? No telling me it looks worse than it is? I verbalize a thought that suddenly pops into my mind: "You didn't go into the jungle, did you?"

"What?" He shakes his head rapidly. "No. Why would I do that?" He pulls a Pokéball from his side and holds it up without releasing the Pokémon inside. "Bibi and I just got into a little brawl is all."

I wasn't expecting that. "You got into a fight with your Pokémon?" Is it the same kind of controlled fighting Musashi and I do?

"Yeah, but I'd word it differently. He likes to jump me in the middle of the night and try to beat me to death." His words shift from speaking to me to yelling at the Pokéball. "I call him 'Filthy Luca' because he fights _dirty_!"

Um… okay. I certainly wasn't expecting the conversation to take this kind of turn. At least Fell wasn't stupid enough to wander into the jungle and get into a fight with a wild Pokémon. He, instead, got into a fight with his own Pokémon, which is at least safer because I really doubt that lucario ever seriously tried to kill his trainer. But between a lucario that apparently gets into fights with his trainer and a haunter that wanders off on its own to play pranks, I question Fell's true utility as a Pokémon trainer. His Pokémon are pretty good in battle, but it seems mostly because of their own merits and not because of his training influence. That pretty much guarantees to me that he was invited to compete because of his latios.

The computer clicks, and I certainly recognize the picture that pops up. It looks like it's my turn, and my opponent is the same woman whose pastimes include power plays. Deborah winks at me and scares the hell out of me that she's going to say something I don't want Lisa to hear.

"Looks like it's our turn, handsome," she tells me seductively.

Lisa simply smirks and shakes her head in disgust. I think I dodged a potentially fatal bullet there.

Mayhan flips a coin and says I choose first—which of Deborah's Pokémon do I wish to face? I try to think of it in terms of how her Pokémon match up to mine. Her articuno is legendary and therefore very strong; Ra would have an easy time against it, and Sundance could probably handle it if he weren't worn down like he is, but Musashi would get totally overwhelmed. Deborah's blissey has low attack strength, but she's got such endurance that she could be a problem if the battle gets drawn out for too long. That leaves umbreon—the dark version of eevee. Umbreon is pretty strong—an even match for Sundance—but the advantage is more likely to be in my favor considering Sundance's level of fighting and the fact that the umbreon will also be tired from this morning's team battle.

I finally decide Deborah will use her umbreon Fenrir. She spends a few minutes thinking things over in a similar way that I did—she decides to battle against Sundance. She brags that she chose Sundance because he already battled today and will be quicker to exhaust than my other Pokémon will be. Unfortunately for her, I trained all my Pokémon to push through the pain long after Dad did the same thing.

Sundance actually seems _more_ energized when he sees that his opponent is closely related to him; taxonomically, jolteon and umbreon are members of the same family. Eevee responds to the radiation of a thunderstone to become jolteon; it responds to the radiation of a moon shard—or sometimes to the moonlight itself when the conditions are appropriate—to become umbreon. This umbreon is only slightly bigger than Sundance; it has black fur with yellow bands around its tail and ears, and similar yellow rings on its haunches and forehead. Just like all the other Pokémon in this tournament, Fenrir is slower than Sundance, but generally umbreons have greater defensive strength—that might still be true here because Sundance worked so hard this morning. Still, I feel confident in Sundance's strength.

"I noticed your jolteon exhausted himself defeating Victor's bronzing this morning."

"Don't count Sundance down just because he's hurt. Overall, he's my strongest Pokémon."

She smiles pleasantly. "Good. Then when I beat him, I'll know it wasn't just a lucky selection."

When the match starts, Sundance immediately focuses on improving his Agility; I can see it in the way his chakra moves to his feet.

"Toxic!" At the command of Deborah's high-pitched cry, Fenrir spits a wad of Toxic poison at Sundance, and unfortunately, it hits home. Sundance starts limping significantly as the poison takes an obvious and rapid toll on him. Fenrir comes in for a Quick Attack, but Sundance shocks him off with a Thunder Wave; electrical energy jumps straight from his body to shock Fenrir's muscles and lock them up.

"That was stupid," Deborah says. She grins and points to the field. Fenrir's forehead glows and suddenly Sundance shows signs of paralysis, too, due to Fenrir's Synchronize ability. Apparently umbreon was able to redirect some of the paralytic ions back at Sundance to inflict a similar atonia upon him. "Now neither Pokémon can move, but yours is poisoned. All Fenrir and I have to do now is wait. Time will win this one."

"Like Sundance would ever make it that easy," I comment.

Sundance manages to channel his chakra into the air; it jumps through the air nearly instantaneously and strikes Fenrir where he stands. Fenrir's tough enough to push past it and recharge himself by drawing in solar energy with his Moonlight ability, but contrary to the old adage, lightning strikes Fenrir again in the exact same spot. Because of his experience in battle and his stubbornness in giving up, Sundance uses up another portion of his chakra to strike Fenrir a second time. Fenrir puts up an impressive showing, though. He endures both lightning strikes and recovers from the paralysis pretty quickly, all things considered; Sundance, by contrast, is still experiencing intense pain from the poison, and it seems to be getting worse. This battle needs to end quickly.

Fenrir climbs to his feet and emits his chakra outwardly from his body—a Dark Pulse. Sundance takes the hit and looks for a moment like he won't get up. If I had my way, I would end the battle right now and take the loss just so I can get him an antidote. But Sundance doesn't want to quit; I can tell because he gets back to his feet through sheer force of will. If I forfeit the battle before Sundance is done, he'll never forgive me.

Sundance forces himself to move at full speed. He disappears momentarily and suddenly reappears behind Fenrir; he quickly lifts both his hind legs and Double Kicks them into Fenrir's belly. When Fenrir stumbles, Sundance pounces with his fur standing on end and Tackles with a Pin Missile-like effect. Sundance stumbles back in my direction, but Fenrir is struggling, too. He almost doesn't look like he's going to get back up, but at least he's still conscious, glaring at Sundance as if he wants revenge.

That's when I realize Sundance didn't just stumble toward me: He fully passed out. That toxin finally took its toll further than Sundance could ignore. Despite dominating the fight through determination, Sundance's body just had to quit in order to prevent organ failure. The referee announces Fenrir as the winner because he's still conscious and Sundance isn't.

Deborah reacts very much like I thought she would; that is, she's not good at hiding the little girl inside her that's jumping up and down with joy, even though her external appearance is limited to a bright smile. Now she, too, is just one win away from taking the lead in this competition.

"That was a valiant effort," she tells me. I simply reply with a dry "thanks." It's much more important to me that I get Sundance to the vet and get him on the road to being healthy again. She puts on a mockingly pitiful look and says, "Aww. Do you want to come over tonight and remind me that there are some things you _are_ good at?"

I can hardly believe that coming from a beautiful woman like her, hearing that offer makes my skin crawl. "No. I'm not interested in a repeat."

Her eyes say she's offended by being blown off. "Doesn't matter. You're not even really all that good at _that_, either." Knowing her propensity for power plays, I think she was ready to turn me down even if I had accepted. At least this way, she gets to emasculate me a little without thinking she has any real power over me. I can settle for that dynamic.

Emily is paired up with Remy next. Remy quickly and without hesitation chooses to face Emily's delcatty: Opal. (She looks like a big cat with whitish fur, a purple mane that encompasses her ears and wraps all the way around her breast, and purple fur tips on her tail.) As far as versatility goes, a delcatty makes for an easier opponent than espeon or suicune. Being a normal-type, a delcatty can't use specialized chakra as easily as other Pokémon species can. And even though it's pretty big for a cat, at seventy pounds, a delcatty doesn't really bring a lot of mass behind its physical attacks.

We all noticed in Opal's earlier battle that she is reasonably proficient with electrical chakra. But that still brings difficulties. Remy's flygon is constantly airborne, often preventing it from taking any electrical damage whatsoever; even though it's grounded and uses water chakra, Remy's swampert is surprisingly resistant to electrical chakra; and Remy's zapdos is not only airborne, but also uses electrical chakra, which increases its own resistance to electricity. Faced with a nearly impossible choice, Emily opts to face Sylph, the flygon. Sylph is like a six-and-a-half-foot, bipedal dragonfly (heavy emphasis on the _dragon_) with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbird's, often giving the impression the flygon is singing when it flies. A flygon has red, multifaceted eyes on either side of its head; that is to say each eye has thousands of receptors on their round eyes that allow for an expanded visual field that is useful for detecting movement. The compound eyes put a severe limit on visual focus, but I doubt anyone's going to ask Sylph to read from an eye chart during this battle.

Actually, there isn't time to ask much during this battle. Sylph's wings kick up a big cloud of dirt everywhere it goes. (If this battle were in the beachfront arena, we'd never even be able to see what's happening.) Opal tries to channel its electrical energy into shocking Sylph's body, but it doesn't work because Sylph never rests its wings and therefore never grounds itself. And using its chakra to Sing a hypnotic song doesn't work because the sound of Sylph's wings seems to counter the sound waves. Opal is pretty agile and pounces on Sylph many times when she swoops down to attack, but it's only a temporary advantage when Sylph begins using Dragon Breath. That and other long-range attacks keep Sylph safe while keeping Opal at a huge disadvantage until the battle ends.

Emily's poor delcatty just seems to have been outmatched so far in this tournament. First it got walloped by Timmy's aggron, and now it gets outclassed by Remy's flygon. Luckily her espeon and suicune are picking up the slack.

Finally, we get to the match I've been waiting for. This one is where I can figure out if I was experiencing some kind of sensory lag earlier today… and it also tells me the tournament is not completely random. Victor, in all his pomposity and disgraceful loserness, is pitted against the top seeded trainer—one of the ones who dealt Victor is only loss so far. And Lady Sunday is thrilled with it.

"One more victory here and they might save the trouble and offer the grand prize now," she taunts Victor. "I will defeat your bronzong once more." I remember Liberty, that self-aware computer Pokémon shaped like a bell. That thing nearly won the double battle by itself until it made the mistake of giving Sundance a target at point-blank range.

But Victor doesn't bite on Sunday's combative words. I can't tell if he's ignoring her because he's trying to focus, or if it's because he's still furious about his loss and is desperate to deal payback to the woman in first place. A win here puts Victor _back_ in the pilot's seat of this tournament, and he definitely wants to earn it.

"How's your raikou doing?" he asks Sunday. He's trying not to sound snide; it's not working.

"Gunther is fine," she replies curtly. "He's much too high-class to be injured by that little bout earlier this morning."

Victor is remarkably able to read between the lines: the raikou is not in top shape, and maybe not even halfway at full speed. "Fine. Metagross will make a tougher opponent, anyway."

Her metagross? That's a bold decision. In theory, a metagross is even more powerful than a raikou in terms of brute strength and physical condition. This metagross Hibernius is basically a five-foot, quadrupedal tank-like spider. Its body is composed of iron minerals, and just like bronzong, it is more like a computer than a living organism. I know it has a mouth on its belly, and the fact that it does, indeed, devour other living creatures suggests there is some kind of organic life inside that iron body. I'm not sure of its origin, but its computer-like features give it amazing intelligence and a hell of a logic drive. I do know that a metagross comes about by the fusion of two metang—smaller, less evolved computer Pokémon.

The comparison of this Hibernius tank and the Liberty bell is an interesting one, and honestly it doesn't look like a battle Victor should win. Every strength bronzong has is also the strength of metagross, but theoretical biology says metagross is stronger in almost every objective category. It comes down to effectiveness of training and the intangibles.

Liberty doesn't start in the air. It's sitting on the ground, the same formation it used against Sundance to use Earthquake.

"Start with Earthquake," Victor says. I can't be sure Liberty is the one calling the shots because it's possible Victor already told his Pokémon what move to make before the battle even started.

Sunday is quick to react. "Magnet Rise!" Hibernius's four brains give it a fast reaction time as it starts generating static electricity in each of its four legs. The chakra propels Hibernius over the ground, protecting it from the violent ground beneath it.

"Now use Meteor Mash!" Hibernius manages to hover using just three legs for a moment. The fourth leg disconnects from the main body at high speed and shoots straight for Liberty. As soon as the leg connects with Liberty's hollow body, I become acutely aware of a transfer of chakra from the connection point straight into Hibernius's individual limb. It's such an intense transfer that I notice it even without meditation. What was that?

"Use Payback," Victor grumbles. Liberty channels a dark energy flow into its bell, then turns itself upward to fire back at Hibernius.

Hibernius's fourth arm already reattached by the time Sunday tells it, "Protect yourself!" Hibernius channels its energy into the air immediately surrounding its body—like it's able to manipulate the molecules in the air to create a hardened, impenetrable shell around itself.

"Ready Hyper Beam," Victor tells Liberty. It's redundant, though, because I can already see the energy collecting in Liberty's bell.

A deafening crack causes everyone to flinch when Hibernius Explodes. The tank-like Pokémon—still Protecting itself—suddenly blew up. The way the technique generally works is a Pokémon consciously focuses all its chakra into a single point inside the body, and when that chakra can't possibly be focused any more tightly and ruptures just a tiny bit, all that focused energy erupts into an enormous Explosion, usually obliterating everything within fifty feet. In this instance, though, the exploding chakra was contained by the Protect shell, thus hurting only Hibernius.

"What the hell happened?" Geoff utters. He's the only one not speechless with shock. How could a machine with four brains malfunction to such an extreme? Did it have to do with that energy transfer when Hibernius hit Liberty? Maybe that dark energy was the _real_ Payback move Liberty used—a kind of "you hit me, I infect you with a virus" attack. The battle is probably over _before_ Hyper Beam hits, but Victor had such an overreaction to his earlier loss that he wanted to make _certain_ everyone knows that Sunday can't compare with him as a trainer.

"That was definitely a unique battle," Lisa comments.

I can't be certain what I saw. It _seemed_ like Liberty was executing commands before Victor actually gave them. Is its reaction speed that high? Or maybe its neural network is complex enough that Liberty can make its own decisions in battle, much like Musashi and Sundance do. Or maybe Liberty's psychic powers really _do_ give it some level of telepathy, and it can read Victor's mind without waiting for him to speak. The last option seems terribly implausible, but that is merely opinion based on the knowledge I currently have of biology and neuroscience; I suppose it might be possible, even though it pains me to say so. Maybe if I could watch the earlier battles again… to see if the time lapse also occurs with Victor's scizor, which doesn't have a psychic bone in its body.

When I remember the tournament's prize money, I feel a little more anxious about falling behind Victor and Sunday in number of wins, but I'm really more interested in Lisa than the money right now. I've never had a lot of luck with women—maybe I'm too picky—but Lisa really seems like a match for me. I could yet be wrong in the long run, but I'm very interested in giving it a shot. If it works out, a relationship will be much more rewarding than any amount of money.

My best chance to woo Lisa comes after her battle against Timmy. She thought her blaziken Apollo would be able to topple Timmy's aggron Granmarg, but the final result came down to Granmarg's size advantage. That aggron is seven feet and eight hundred pounds of bipedal triceratops with a tail the size of an anaconda. Her scales are like black and silver plated mail, which renders physical attacks all but useless. Apollo is a much more skilled fighter, and certainly the faster one; ground attacks have very little effect because Apollo is so light and agile that he can spend most of the time in the air while the ground shakes below him. But Granmarg still has a tale as solid as iron, and one smack to the stomach stuns Apollo long enough for Granmarg to finish it with an Iron Head butt. That aggron has already proven to be one tough customer as the one responsible for both of Timmy's wins so far.

Lisa takes the loss gracefully, but I can see her disappointment in her eyes. I try not to sound condescending when I ask her to join me for dinner. She accepts with a warm smile. When I try putting my arm around her shoulder, she doesn't recoil or shrug it off, so I enjoy the feel of her strong shoulders.

While we walk to the dining hall, she tells me, "You're limping more than usual."

"You've only known me two days. How do you know what's _usual_?"

"I'm good at paying attention," she says. "For example, I know I didn't hit you in the leg last night. What happened to you?"

"I started to take a walk around the island when I was attacked by a wild slaking."

I have no idea why the truth slipped out there; I couldn't help it. Sure, I left out a large part of the story, but what I told her is exactly what's wrong with my leg. I probably could have avoided that confused look she's giving me if I told her I stumbled and tripped over my coffee table or something.

"What were you doing walking around the island in the dead of night?"

I simply tell her, "I was curious."

"Despite being told not to leave the mansion grounds?"

"Yes. That's probably what _made_ me curious."

She scoffs and shakes her head, but she's still smiling—I'm not in too much trouble with her. "You're an idiot. I guess I'll have to lift without you tonight."

She's right, but not because of my leg… I have some video to review.

* * *

_This chapter would have been way too long if I went into great detail on all the battles; for most of them, I just described the closing. In case you're trying to keep score, Geoff and Bernie are 1-3, Victor and Sunday are 3-1, and everyone else is 2-2. I hope the imagery of the battles was a little better this time; it's certainly easier to do one-on-one battles, though it's easier still to do it with humanoid fighters. (Metagross versus bronzong was tough to picture.)  
_

_Thanks to Imagination Domination for pointing out something in the story I wasn't clear about so far. It won't change the story, but she deserves thanks for bringing to my attention something I need to include that I might otherwise have neglected.  
_

_When I started this story, I decided I was going to keep it short (I'm pretty much incapable of writing a short story and wanted to try it just once). I gave myself a 70-page limit, and with this chapter, I have hit page 72 (size 10 Comic Sans font). Don't worry, though; I'm not stupid enough to hold myself to an arbitrary limit like that. It will take two more chapters just to close out Day 2 of the tournament. We may have hit the halfway point already, though I won't be sure until I finish writing.  
_

_One thing about me is I tend to make cultural references in my humor. I can't do that with this story, though, because it's not in Jin's personality. One example is that Pesto is not only the name of Geoff's weezing and an Italian sauce, but also the name of one of the Goodfeathers from _Animaniacs_. I couldn't make that reference, though, because that sounds too much like me and not like Jin. I did get to make the _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_reference, though, with Filthy Luca--an archer involved in the plot to assassinate Cary Elwes. I just wanted to throw that out there._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	11. A Round of Suspicion

**A Round of Suspicion**

After dinner, I go back to Bernie's room with him to borrow his computer.

"What are you looking for his time?" he asks.

I tell him I want to find the videos of our battles. Mayhan said each battle was recorded for the purpose of Zamia's review while he was not in attendance of his own tournament, but I suspect those videos are also online somewhere; videos of an ongoing tournament can bring a lot of viewers and a lot of money by extension, especially considering people are gambling on these battles online, too. The only problem is they're well hidden, and when I do finally stumble onto them, they're encrypted. According to Bernie, they require a password that probably gets sent to select people with big wallets. He says that's how rich people keep things secure.

"That's where I come in," Geoff says. He cracks his knuckles and pushes me aside. He spends ten minutes on the computer, and suddenly we have access to all the video files from the tournament. I watched what he did on the keyboard, but don't expect me to be able to explain it. To me, it looked like he already _knew_ the password. He's like a computer wizard. I'm just pleased he got me access.

Just as last night, Bernie invited everyone back to the room to hang out. Timmy's excited for a rematch against Geoff in various games. It's a little odd to me that the good friend this twelve-year-old kid found is a thirty-five-year-old man with a twelve-year-old mentality, but at least the kid isn't alone here, and he seems to be doing well without his parents around; they've also exchanged Gamertags to keep playing when they get home. Jess and Shawn are good friends with Bernie and Geoff already, so they're up for hanging out—and my guess is Jess already wrote it down, anyway, which means she was planning to drag along anyone not already planning to join. Anfernee likes the idea, and Emily whispers to me that she's happy to offer more advice on bagging myself a trainer.

Lisa said she was going to rest for a few minutes in her room and then go lift in a while, but she'd stop by later. Deborah says she's got better things to do, but she declines to give any more information than that. She tries to be very secretive, but I'm sure she's just working on strategies for beating the rest of us in battle. Omar and his gang of three say they'll consider stopping by later, but they want to play some volleyball again; first they want to relax someplace quietly for a little while, and any room where Geoff and Bernie are both involved in a video game is definitely not quiet.

Victor and Sunday had oddly similar responses: They each scoffed and acted like they were better than the rest of us. That attitude bothers me, but they _are_ leading the battle series, so maybe there actually is some validity to their attitudes. I would really like to face Victor again tomorrow—one-one-one this time—because I think my Pokémon are able to bring him down another notch. I couldn't care less about Sunday; she's the type who puts on that kind of attitude as a defense against disappointment. I think she started out fairly polite and kind of flirty because she was trying out a different personality with people who didn't already know her; then she changed her mind either because she didn't like the new personality or because she doesn't care what a bunch of people who she'll never see again think about her.

At this time, Jess asks me, "Why so interested in the videos of battles you've already seen?"

"Just a hunch," I reply. After experiencing that almost mind-numbing perceptual glitch between the bronzong's moves and Victor's commands, I paid very close attention to Victor and his interaction with bronzong during the second battle only to notice the same thing. His are the only battles in which I get that feeling. I was careful to watch the lag between command and technique during all the other battles, and they all followed the same kind of delay. I want to view the videos to see if that pattern always holds true for Victor or if maybe it only happens with his psychic types.

Timmy and Shawn start up _Halo_ again, but this time they play a two-player story mode. That leaves the others free to stare over my shoulders annoyingly as I manipulate the playback of the video of Victor's first battle against Jess's gallade over and over again. I keep watching a moment in the battle in which his scizor's claws start to glow almost two full seconds before Victor calls for the use of Metal Claw. Every time the scizor jumps forward to attack, I rewind the video to watch it charge up again. The claws very clearly glow before any words are spoken.

After the video goes by the fourth time, Jess says, "Play that back once more." I rewind it again. "Check that out!" She points at the screen and tells us that she thinks the Metal Claw attack starts _before_ Victor gives the command.

"It's probably just a glitch with the video," Bernie suggests. I allow the video to continue playing, now with everyone watching closely. Each command from Jess precedes the display by Cale by anywhere from one to four seconds; Victor's commands are still off from the display, but the Metal Claw clip is the most noticeable one.

"That _is_ weird," Anfernee says. "Is it like that on all the videos?" He makes a good point consistent with Bernie's earlier suggestion; maybe it is just this one video with some kind of glitch. I close the video from Victor's first battle and move on to the second one. The same kind of time discrepancy occurs there with commands Victor gives his lugia—again, _just_ noticeable enough—but Bernie's commands to his groudon follow the expected delay between command and attack.

"Most Pokémon follow a command-_then _-attack pattern," I say, "but Victor's Pokémon seem to follow a predict-what-Victor's-about-to-tell-me-and-do-it-early pattern. Even that scizor does it, so the telepathy argument is out."

"That is definitely weird," Jess agrees. "I watched all those battles and I never even noticed."

"Neither did I," I say, "until I was in a battle against him. I give so few commands to my own Pokémon that I can pay more attention to the other trainer and not just the other Pokémon." We watch clips from this morning's tag team battle and see that even in a tag match, Victor is the only one whose commands are seen before they're heard. (It's easy to tell when we already know what commands he'll give.) When we watch the fight between his scizor and Jess's gallade again, Bernie points out something I didn't see before.

"Listen to how quickly Victor makes his decisions about what defensive moves Zantetsu should use to protect itself from Cale's attacks." I watch carefully and pay close attention to the interaction between Pokémon and all but tune out Victor's voice. When Jess gives the command for Cale to use Close Combat, Zantetsu already curled up to ready his Iron Defense. Again, Victor's verbal response to Cale's oncoming attack comes almost too late for Zantetsu to do anything to prepare, yet he's is already in a defensive position. It's as if Zantetsu responds to _Jess's_ commands instead of Victor's.

Bernie says, "Does it almost look like Victor's Pokémon know what Jess is going to do before she does?"

I hate to admit it, but that's what I'm starting to think. Even Zantetsu is acting psychic, but the steel bug doesn't have the cerebral capacity for true telepathy. The closest a _human_ brain can come is to see the cues a person shows—usually facial expressions, body language, or muscle tension—and predict that person's next move. It's like recognizing someone's tell in Poker so you know when a player is bluffing or reading a person's emotions to figure out what he or she is thinking. And a bug Pokémon doesn't have that mental capacity.

"Scizors aren't psychic," Geoff points out. Then he proposes a theory more ridiculous than anything I had in mind. "What if Victor is the psychic one?"

"How could he be psychic?" Anferee asks. "That doesn't make any sense."

Geoff shrugs and says, "Why not? I know some people are capable of feats that you might consider supernatural. Pokémon move tutors often provide a good example: How can a normal person possibly teach a Pokémon to use Thunder Punch?"

"That's a fair point," Shawn says. "Some people know how to generate electricity within their bodies and channel it into their arms during a fight. Not all Pokémon are capable of such a feat, but the people who can do that can train capable Pokémon to do it, too. Maybe Victor is some kind of Psychic move tutor."

Suddenly Emily looks slightly more convinced, but she still resists the idea. Bernie, on the other hand, points out that many psychic-type Pokémon are able to use telepathy; he suggests such an ability may have evolved over time as a result of psychic Pokémon being domesticated by people. Their brains adapted to be able to understand human language and use their mental waves to create such language inside the minds of another person, thus using telepathy. But those Pokémon are highly intelligent and have still different cerebral structures from humans, structures that are obviously more evolved than ours are.

I maintain aloud that Victor's apparent psychic behavior is primarily an increased capacity for problem-solving and predicting behavior; he can imagine the battle from his view and from his opponent's view, predict the best move to defeat his Pokémon at any given moment—with surprising accuracy—and then counter it. That's the most logical conclusion.

"You think some psychic ability is why he's never lost?" Jess suggests.

"He _did_ lose," I remind him. Victor lost in a tag team battle against me and Sunday. Sure, it was a team battle in which types didn't match up in his favor, but he still lost. That provokes a discussion of whether losing a tag team battle is on the same level as losing a one-on-one battle. I again take the side that it is—that Victor is not a perfect trainer. Of course the intricacies of a tag team battle are different from one-on-one, and Jess says Liberty could have beaten Sundance if Gunther hadn't given grudging support. I disagree, but I have a biased opinion of Dad's Pokémon. To end, we agree that a team battle prevents us from knowing certainly who would win were any two of the Pokémon pitted one-on-one.

"So where are we on the Psychic Victor issue?" Geoff wonders.

Jess suggests, "If Victor can read Pokémon minds and share his thoughts… that would make his Pokémon so much faster. It would be on the same level as being in the battle himself. They'd know everything he was thinking."

I shake my head and say, "I don't think so. Even if he able to use the Psychic move, that's more of a telekinesis thing than a telepathy thing. It doesn't make any sense for a human to be telepathic with Pokémon. He'd have to have the cerebral structure of a Pokémon to use that kind of technique."

Bernie grins and asks, "How cool would that be?" Timmy gets excited and says he'd want to be as strong as his aggron. Geoff says he'd want to be as cute as a cleffa because then he'd get more attention from girls.

After a few minutes of naming characteristics of Pokémon they'd like to have, I interrupt my cohort's fun by asking, "What do you think about the possibility that Mayhan _is_ Zamia?"

Emily excitedly shouts, "You, too?" She looks at Anfernee when she says, "We were just talking about how we think Zamia's a fake person Mayhan used in order to make a famous name for himself while he stays out of the spotlight. That way he gets to speak on behalf of Zamia without people clamoring for an autograph or bugging him with questions about Zamia's current research." That's pretty much exactly my theory.

Jess shoots us down, though, when she points out, "But there was a big biography on him a few years ago. It had a picture and everything, and he didn't look much like Mayhan."

"Seriously?" Anfernee takes the computer from me and spends a few minutes locating the only known biographical report of the elusive Professor Charles Zamia. To find it, though, he has to fish through the hundreds of research reports written by Zamia and published in scientific journals over the past two decades. But he does find a description in Wikipedia with a link to the magazine that published his biography.

I read through the nitty gritty details. Like every young boy, he couldn't wait to start training Pokémon. But _un_like every young trainer, his first Pokémon was a porygon. Undoubtedly, that is what sparked his interest in Pokémon biology. Porygon was the first ever artificial Pokémon, created by man entirely out of program code. Its artificial body—which looks like a polygonal form of an origami crane—is programmed with the code to make it behave like a Pokémon, and it is likewise capable of reverting into pure data if plugged into a machine. It doesn't breathe or eat, and it can copy the abilities of other Pokémon because it can essentially see other Pokémon as data—somewhat like the Terminator. Zamia received the porygon from his father, who worked at a research lab and ultimately got Zamia his first research assistantship. The picture provided in the article was taken shortly before he began the assistantship at age 21.

At a private laboratory inside a mansion on Cinnabar Island in the Kanto region, Zamia was part of a secret research organization that was attempting genetic experiments on a Pokémon in order to make a stronger one. In the interview, Zamia neither confirmed nor denied the rumor that the experiments were on the mythical Mew, the supposed ancestor of all Pokémon, and that the product of such an experiment was some kind of powerful clone of Mew. Zamia did assert, however, that no such clone existed because a gas leak caused the mansion to explode. Official reports say that Zamia is the only surviving member of the research team.

It wasn't long after that Zamia became reclusive. Some say it was because the lab explosion left him horribly scarred and he was embarrassed to be seen, and some say the sponsors of his research project were higher executives in the villainous organization called Team Rocket and that those rumors sufficiently damaged his reputation in the public eye, driving him into hiding. The solitary life seems to have been conducive to his success, however; within the first two years after the Cinnabar incident, he published six widely-cited articles regarding the existence and biology of legendary Pokémon. Within the following ten years, he published more than eighty articles: touting the existence of about a dozen legendary types not previously seen or discovered; reclassifying earlier discovered Pokémon as legendary, such as manaphy; the difference between _legendary_ and rare Pokémon _not_ legendary, such as unown and spiritomb (along with biological evidence why the distinction); and explaining the biology of legendary Pokémon. His most notable work, however, was a series of articles proving the existence of the mythical Dragon Trio said to have created the universe.

"See? That guy doesn't look a thing like Mayhan."

Mayhan is a tall, lean man with an oval-shaped head, light hair, blue eyes, and a very symmetrical face. By contrast, Zamia's young picture shows a short, puny boy with dark hair and eyes, rounded features, and a mole on his right cheek. It is possible Zamia grew well until his body resembled Mayhan's, but many features of the head can't be ignored. Mayhan has no widow's peak; Zamia's is prominent. Mayhan has a cleft chin; Zamia's chin is almost perfectly rounded. Mayhan's eyes are big and round; Zamia's are almond-shaped. Mayhan has perfect complexion; Zamia's face is notably pockmarked. There's no way any biologist could see these two faces and believe they are the same man.

I'm tempted to point out that such a story doesn't completely disprove my theory—that Mayhan may have adopted Zamia's name, reputation, and money after Zamia's death—but my scientist side stops me. In all my scientific research, I live by the rule of Occam's razor: "entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity." The simplest explanation is not only preferred, but usually correct. Nature is often not as complicated as people want to believe, and the existence of two separate men is certainly simpler than the existence of two separate identities within one manipulative man.

I'm ready to use the Internet to find and read some more articles about Zamia's youth and research, but Emily only gives me time to read a few headlines before she and Anfernee claim the computer from me. She tells me I'm spending too much time studying during this tournament and reminds me that I need to enjoy this island while we're here. "All work and no play" and whatnot… She and Anfernee begin searching amusing videos on Youtube while I take a seat and watch Timmy and Geoff kills swarms of aliens.

A little after eight-thirty, Lisa knocks on the open door and enters the room. I forget immediately everything that's said around me when she enters except that Lisa says she's pretty tired from all the exercise she's been doing. She sits down next to me and sprawls out like she's ready to sleep right here and now. I want to reach over and soothe all her aches, but that can backfire in ways too numerous to count here. Instead I simply put my hand on her leg and give it a brief squeeze. Her leg is amazing to the touch—like liquid steel.

Lisa rolls her head on the couch cushion to look at me and asks what we've been up to. I tell her that we've been hanging out, playing video games, and discussing conspiracy theories regarding Professor Zamia. (I leave out the stuff about her ex-boyfriend because few people ever enjoy such speculative conversations.) Shawn adds that we've also been watching humorous videos online: Topics range from humorous videos people have made with _Halo_ to stupid songs people sing to dangerous things people do with Pokémon. Lisa agrees that sounds relaxing—much more so than lifting a collective total of fifty times your body weight. I move my hand to her shoulder and give her another light squeeze. She closes her eyes and moans lightly.

Unfortunately Lisa soon touches my arm and pushes it aside. She says that she's pretty tired and is going to feed her Pokémon and probably go to bed early. She stands from the couch to walk away, and a part of me figures I should go ahead and get past her; she seems resistant, like when a friend realizes you have feelings for her that she doesn't have in return, and so she distances herself. I longingly watch Lisa walk away. Suddenly I snap out my trance by Emily smacking me in the arm. I turn to look at her and she eagerly motions toward Lisa with her head. I remember the advice she offered to me earlier—that some women like to be pursued.

What do I want to do here? If I'm right about Zamia, figuring things out sooner is much more likely to keep us safe. If Geoff is right about Victor… well, I'm not sure what harm that really causes except the need to put an asterisk next to any of his awards. Should I stay here and focus on potential problems, or am I just creating conspiracies where none exist? I have no doubt Zamia and/or Mayhan is hiding something on this island, but his reputation is generally positive, and if we all leave the island safely at the tournament's end, does it really matter what he's doing? On the other hand, this could be my only chance with Lisa.

Do I prefer the conspiracy... or the romance?

The way Emily keeps smacking my arm and pointing with increasing force finally convinces me to jump up from the couch and call out to Lisa just as she gets out the door. She stops in the hallway long enough for me to catch her.

"Um…" I say eloquently. "Would you like to take a walk?"

"A walk?" she repeats with a half smile.

"Yes." I'm sure my face would be bright red by this moment if I weren't so good at hiding my embarrassment. "I think maybe a walk down to the beach. It's light exercise, and I was thinking of letting Ra out to bathe in the sea. She's been cooped up in her Ultra Ball for most of this trip so far. Maybe Seraph might enjoy that, too?" Yeah, that last sentence sounds more like a question when I say it.

My heart feels like it stops while my brain instantly shows me images of Lisa declining, saying she's tired and doesn't feel like hanging out at all tonight. Such a response would tell me that she's really not interested in me in the least. A part of me would rather I didn't say anything—just enjoy the ignorant possibility that I have a shot with her than let her turn me down outright.

But Lisa actually surprises me. She smiles and says, "Okay. That sounds nice."

* * *

_Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that Jin and Lisa have only known each other for two days; the fact that we're now on Week 11 of writing helps to skew my perspective. I told myself in the beginning that this wasn't going to be the kind of cheesy romance that happens instantaneously like in the movies, but so much for that idea. I think this romance is more compelling this way._

_For those of you who don't know, don't care, or are generally just too lazy to look it up, _Zamia_ is a genus of cycad trees and plants. I did that intentionally in the beginning to follow another Pokemon trend: professors named after trees. Did anyone notice that already?_

_Man... This story is going by so quickly. It's hard to believe I ever thought I could contain it in 70 pages. I have no idea how long the final product will be, but I know we're getting close to the plot twists, the suspense build, and the climax. I might even offer the opportunity for some of my readers to participate in sections where Jin is separated from the other characters. Stayed tuned and I'll let you know what I have in mind.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	12. A Round of Love

_This chapter gets a special posting because it's so short and special. I decided not to wait until the end of the story to do this one._

* * *

**A Round of Love**

We walk to the beach, walking so close together we occasionally bump shoulders. Lisa tells me that she wants to skip working out tomorrow and maybe just take a full night of relaxation. I agree with that suggestion and hope to spend that relaxing evening entirely by her side.

I want to figure out a way to get more time with Lisa. It's not really wise for me to quit my teaching job on a whimsical and possibly fleeting romance. Maybe I can convince her to train in Argentum City for a while. We can be together for some time until we find out if things will work between us. That way neither of us will have to change our lifestyles much while we get to know one another.

But I'm way ahead of myself. I've only barely gotten Lisa to smile. I'm far from asking her to come live in my home.

The beach is calm and serene. We're far enough from the mansion now that the only artificial light we have comes from the empty volleyball court a dozen yards away. The moon is just short of being directly overhead, yet a thin layer of clouds limits the moonlight that illuminates the ground. That limited light makes the water's surface appear black; the occasional ripple glows orange from the outside lights. The clean, bracing air smells salty and reminds me of my time in the Sevii Islands. When the warm breeze blows by, however, the smell of the sea is replaced by the scent of Lisa's hair blowing in my face; she smells like a papaya growing in a locker room, and to be clear, that is an amazing smell. She's standing between me and the light, which makes her body a gorgeous silhouette.

Lisa pulls an Ultra Ball from her waist and sends Seraph into the ocean water to relax. The emergence of her cresselia gives us a new source of light; Seraph's wings and tail give off a soft, pink glow that reflects across the surface of the water. Her body glides over the surface without disturbing the water, as if she became an extension of the water. The serenity that comes from such a sight is indescribable.

I follow suit and summon Ra from her Ultra Ball. Just like the sun god for whom she was named, Ra brings a whole new source of light. Sometimes her body overheats after battle, and so submersing herself in the sea water helps her regulate her body temperature quickly and easily. The beach becomes surprisingly dark when Ra submerges, but what follows is perhaps the most beautiful sight in the world: The phoenix emerges from the water and throws millions of water droplets into the air, all of which reflect Ra's light and create a shimmering rainbow in the night sky. It would be even more beautiful if the moon were visible right behind her, but still the sight is breathtaking.

Lisa tells me we should let our other Pokémon out, too. She pulls out her Pokéball and a Love Ball—a pink and white specialty Pokéball that uses a pheromone blend to make it easier to catch Pokémon of a different gender from the trainer. Her red-feathered blaziken Apollo emerges from the energy of the Pokéball, but the Love Ball produces a black and blue lucario. Standing four feet tall and weighing 120 pounds, Balboa stands on his hind legs, although his heels rarely touch the ground; lucarios are agile runners. He lacks an opposable thumb, but his forepaws are similar to hands, with the exception of the spike on the back of each. His yellow-furred torso covers another spike and leads into his blue tail. His head appears much like a jackal, with pointy ears and red eyes.

Releasing my own Pokéball and Safari Ball, I call Sundance and Musashi to the beach, as well. I almost see these extra Pokémon as a crowd when I'd really just like to be alone with Lisa. But she really seems to enjoy being in the brisk night air with the rambunctious Pokémon nearby, so I'll deal with it to keep her happy. Apollo starts wandering around looking for food and stepping into the water to cool off; Musashi and Balboa don't wander too far from us because they each have the strongest attachments to me and Lisa, respectively; and Sundance, still a little tired from the earlier poisoning, wanders off several yards to lie in the sand where he can keep an eye and an ear on all of us.

Lisa comments on the fact that Sundance never seems all that friendly. I explain to her, "He's never really taken to me. He misses my father, and he just hangs around because I am the biggest reminder of what my father used to be. And it's not that Sundance is unsociable; he just likes to hang in the back of a crowd and look after everyone—to keep us all safe."

She giggles. "It sounds like you and he have a lot more in common than you think." She notices that Musashi is sitting in the lotus position nearby. "He really likes you, doesn't he?"

"He's always been attached to me. He never goes far, and he's intensely protective of me." I can see the body language of Balboa over there—arms crossed, staring at me, feet pointed at a trajectory directly between me and Lisa—which prompts me to add, "Balboa seems to view you the same way."

Lisa smiles at her Pokémon, then looks back at me. "He is fiercely loyal and loves me a lot. Plus he can really understand me. You know lucarios are revered for their ability to read people's auras. It makes them quite empathic."

I _have_ heard about lucarios, but I really enjoy hearing Lisa talk about them and about Balboa; she's very spirited and passionate on the topic. She explains that reading the auras of living organisms helps lucarios to know what people are Pokémon are thinking and feeling. They are basically sensory-type Pokémon and can locate an aura up to a half mile away; that is what makes it so difficult to find and capture one, which makes the fact that two of the trainers here have one all the more impressive. The ability also makes lucarios great fighters, enabling them to predict the moves of any opponents lacking in self-control and willpower.

Lucarios are also known for being one of few Pokémon species who can understand human language. "Can Balboa speak?" I ask, sure that if he could, he would have said something already.

"No," she tells me. "He's amazingly intelligent, but he doesn't have the vocal folds necessary to speak. A lot of people suspect that lucarios can use telepathy, but there's only ever been one that has actually done so according to official reports."

Ah, the telepathy card again. The theory—that has no scientific evidence whatsoever—is that energy or information transfers anomalously, or through some abnormal means. Psychologists call the energy _psi_, spiritualists call it _aura_, and fighters call it _chakra_. Whatever term is used, the idea is that energy can be used to transmit information into or out of another person's or Pokémon's mind. I still think it's just empathy and myth. There might be some bearing for the theory if either people or lucarios had the mechanisms to perform such a mental feat.

The look Balboa is giving me says he knows what I'm saying—not what I'm thinking. I ask Lisa to tell me about him. She says that she named him Balboa because as a lucario, he has a great deal of stamina and seems to get stronger when he takes more of a beating—just like how Rocky managed to outlast guys who were better fighters. She thought he was a perfect complement to Apollo; his fire abilities gave him an edge over Balboa whenever they fought one another, though overall he was only barely the stronger fighter. Seraph got her name because she has such an angelic presence that she can heal even psychological scars, and as a legendary Pokémon, she is of the highest class of Pokémon.

The story of how I came to name Musashi, Sundance, and Ra the way I did is a lot more boring, yet Lisa seems interested in it.

Finally she smiles, takes a step away from me, and says, "It's getting late. Maybe we should get some sleep before Round Five in the morning." As she turns toward her Pokémon to retrieve them, my heart sinks and an image of Emily flashes quickly through my mind.

I grab Lisa's hand and whip her back to me so quickly Balboa starts to react as if he's battle ready. But I'm not hurting Lisa; I pull her close and embrace her in my arms. I ask her to wait and she looks sufficiently shocked, to say the least. I put my hand on her cheek and gently pull her into a kiss. All of my appreciation for her rushes to my lips as I feel the contours of her lips and taste the lip gloss she applied earlier this evening. My hesitance fades significantly when I realize she's kissing me back. I don't know how long we remain in embrace; I just know that when we finally separate, it doesn't feel like long enough.

She smells like an angel, and her very touch is like electricity that stimulates my whole body. I brush the hair out of her face and stare hard into her eyes in a way that tells her how incredible I think she is. I pull her close again and feel her body pressed against mine. Whether it's from the warm night air or the rising blood pressure or the anticipation of something amazing that's about to happen, I start to feel a little sweaty, and everything else seems a little blurry. There's nothing in the world right now except me and Lisa.

"It's about time," she says harshly. She punches me in the chest and says, "I was starting to think you'd _never_ get the hint."

I just smile and say, "Sorry."

I never do go back to my room. And when we finally get to sleep, it's the best night of sleep I ever had.

* * *

_This chapter is dedicated to the recent Hallmark holiday that represents the most romantic day of the year. I refer, of course, to President's Day, the celebration of Lincoln's (12th) and Washington's (22nd) birthdays._

_I know the Love Ball, in the games, is affected by the genders of the two Pokemon, but I see little reason why the pheromones emitted by a human woman can't affect a proud, male Pokemon. Besides, I think the idea of a Pokemon having a protective brother thing going with his female trainer is cute._

_About the fire Pokemon bathing in water, here is my thinking: I don't think Pokemon are innately weak to water--the majority of life on this planet is water, and 70% of the atmosphere is water, as well. I see it more like the extreme physical reaction that happens when you rapidly cool heated cells. (As an example, if you run a mile and then drink very cold water, you are likely to throw up because of how rapidly you cool your stomach. Rapidly cooling hot metal freezes the metal. Hot water freezes faster than cold water.) The way I see it, a fire Pokemon is adversely affected by water in a battle because adrenaline and abilities raise the body temperature and then the water acts as a rapid coolant.  
I know the anime had an episode with a sandshrew whose trainer (I want to say his name was Adrian?) forced the sandshrew to go swimming from time to time, and the water was like acid on the sandshrew's skin. This is biologically ridiculous. The explanation I gave above is much more plausible, and it could apply to ground types the same way. For rock types, their weakness to water is based on the idea that water is one of the primary agents of erosion.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	13. A Round of Legends

**A Round of Legends**

It's the first time I slept all the way to seven o'clock. I actually struggle to open my eyes until I catch sight of Lisa's beautiful eyes. "Morning, studly," she whispers. Her hair is a tangled mess, she's got a few pillow lines across her face, and her lips are pulled back into a smile. It's one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. She obviously awoke earlier, but it doesn't look like she moved at all, except to answer the wake-up call. Maybe she even watched me sleep for a few minutes.

"Good morning." I reach out and stroke my finger across her cheek. She closes her eyes and moans softly as a response. It's hard to describe how badly I don't want to move right now. And this time, the reason has nothing to do with my leg.

"I suppose we ought to get up and ready," she mumbles. "Today is an all-legendary day. Seraph and Ra will fight both our battles today. Supposed to test their endurance or some such nonsense."

"Sounds exciting," I reply, not really thinking about the Pokémon even a little bit. Lisa looks even more gorgeous right now than she did last night. If this were a work day and not part of a tournament, I would have called in sick already. But given our current schedule…

"How much time do we have?"

She smiles coyly and says with a wink, "We have a few minutes." That's all I wanted to know.

Now comes the fun part of getting back to my room without anyone seeing me. It's actually not that difficult at this hour; no one is outside of his or her room and the mansion staff members haven't wandered to this side of the building yet. I hop into my room and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt I _wasn't_ wearing yesterday. I may have to wear something twice, though, because I never got the chance to wear those pants I brought. And it's supposed to rain later today…

I meet Lisa back at her room and we walk to the arena together, our fingers intertwined. She reminds me the wake-up call described this morning's contest as a test of stamina. Specifically, we were scheduled to use our legendary Pokémon for both the morning battle and the afternoon battle. I suspect many trainers will have their Pokémon take it slightly easier during the first battle in order to avoid exhaustion before the second. Aside from the fact that _I_ expect to do very little when my efforts are compared with Ra's, my general strategy when I know a second match is close by is to go all out from the start—a quick victory is the best way to save energy.

But something's amiss. We're short four trainers. Deborah and Timmy were the first ones out here, Lisa and I came together, Bernie and Geoff approached the field loudly cracking jokes with Shawn and Jess, Emily and Anfernee walked out of the mansion holding hands, Victor made a point to sneer at me when he walked by, and Sunday can't actually see us with her nose so high in the air like that.

"Where's Omar's gang?" Geoff wonders. He points out that none of Omar, Olivia, Remy, or Fell stopped by Bernie's room last night, either. Come to think of it, Lisa and I were outdoors last night, yet the volleyball court was empty. I didn't care at the time, but it is strange that those folks weren't where they said they'd be. We've already seen so little of those four outside of tournament hours, and now this? Is there something in the water on this island that turns everybody secretive?

"Oh, dear," Mayhan utters. "Perhaps they overslept." He signals to one of the staff members and asks him to run to the guest rooms and check on the missing trainers. He insists in the meantime, "I hate to do this, but we have a schedule to keep—one they all knew about already. They will regain the right to participate if they can arrive quickly. Until then, we must keep the tournament going on schedule."

That's weird, but there is a reasonable explanation; those four tend to spend their time together, so it makes sense for them to follow similar schedules… even when they are _off_ schedule. There's no reason to suspect Mayhan had anything to do with it. There's nothing I can do about that right now, anyway, but if Omar and the others don't show up by the time this round of battles ends, I'm going to see if I can't find either them or an explanation for their disappearance.

The first battle of the day is Lisa's. She and Seraph are up against Shawn and his darkrai Resistor. Often these two Pokémon are considered polar opposites of one another: light and darkness, as it were. But I admit that I don't care so much about the battle. I spend my time staring at Lisa, remembering how she looked last night. I can't help it, mostly because I don't want to. I'm perfectly happy fantasizing about her while other people battle; I'll focus when my turn comes up.

And I get to play the comfort card because Shawn ends up winning the battle with a Dark Pulse that knocks out Seraph. I think these two Pokémon actually went at one another full-force. Maybe I was wrong about anyone trying to hold back and save some for the second battle. I guess I continue to underestimate the pride of these trainers.

Victor seems to ignore the fact that I have my arm around Lisa and squeezes her shoulder anyway. He gives her some "cheer up" advice and reminds her that the first-place trophy is not out of reach. What I can't figure out is why he's being so friendly toward her all of a sudden. This is the first time he felt it necessary to console her after a loss, and after their mutual loss, he focused only on his own disappointment—and all his reactions were contrary to what he's saying to Lisa now. Plus, Lisa told me she and Victor hadn't even seen one another in six years, so the idea of preserving their relationship can't be in mind. He's obviously jealous.

Which reminds me… Deborah has been oddly quiet. I'm not saying I want her to pine for me, but I figured she'd at least scowl at Lisa or something. She has hardly even glanced my way so far. Maybe she's distracted by something else, like running out of makeup or struggling to add another notch on her bedpost. I don't really care.

My first opponent is Timmy and his legendary Pokémon.

"You ready for this?" I ask him.

He looks hesitant when he says, "Maybe. I don't know how close this fight will be. You're too good."

"You think so?" I thought the kid was still at that age where he thinks he's invulnerable. It's awfully mature of him to be prepared for defeat, but it's also sloppy of him to expect it. "Here's a word of advice," I tell him. "Never give up before you give it your best effort. Your opponent is only guaranteed a win when you stop trying."

"Even when you have a fire-type and I have a grass-type?"

I forgot about that for a moment. Ra is my competitor for this battle, but Timmy is forced to summon his shaymin, a very small, grass-type Pokémon. It looks like a white hedgehog, but its back is covered with green fur that makes it look a lot like a Chia Pet. It's only eight inches tall and weighs less than five pounds. It also has seeds along its fur and two flowers on either side of its head; they're apparently a defense mechanism—camouflage in a shaymin's natural environment of flowering areas. I remember hearing in one of my botany courses in college that shaymin are capable of absorbing airborne pollution, purifying it, and returning fertility to ruined soil by releasing the appropriate nutrients back into the air and ground.

For a hedgehog with short, stubby limbs, a shaymin is pretty fast. I think that's why Timmy named his Sonic. Shaymin are the kind of cute Pokémon that seem more appropriate as pets than as battlers. I can see why Timmy's so reluctant about this battle.

"Do what you can," I suggest to him. "If you get to the point where you think Sonic is only going to get hurt, step up and end the battle. But that's no reason not to try."

Timmy smiles and nods as he starts to psych himself up for this battle. "Okay. Let's do it."

I summon Ra to the garden arena and start to think they may have to change the name of it when she's done. My twelve-foot phoenix barely notices the eight-inch hedgehog on the grass arena. As soon as Ra realizes that Sonic is her opponent, I suspect she'll just drown the field in a sea of flames.

And that's just what she does. A full-strength Flamethrower attack from the air allows her flames to activate every side of the Light Screen at once. I'm not sure why I thought this battle might last longer, and now I know why Timmy was convinced he would lose. I feel bad for pushing him into it. I think Sonic is going to need more than just a few hours to recover sufficiently in time for this afternoon's battle.

Suddenly the gases released by the burning grass part and follow a different trajectory, almost like something fast flew through the billowy smoke. I get my answer a moment later when I get a better view of a… flying shaymin? I'm not sure what happened, but Sonic's body seems to have transformed just a bit. All that fur that gave it the Chia Pet look slid up to Sonic's spine and rose to his head, like a mane/Mohawk thing. Its ears, which must have been hidden by the flowers, are now protruding from its head like wings. Those flowers on its head also shifted back to its neck around the mane, almost giving it a scarf-like appearance.

"What the hell is that?" I wonder aloud. It seems to violate the laws of physics; especially the ones that say hedgehogs don't transform. How is it flying? It would need to have muscles _in its head_ to flap those wings. I have _never_ heard of any kind of creature that could do that. No wonder the shaymin species was classified as a legendary Pokémon.

Ra stops her Flamethrower and begins chasing after Sonic in the air, occasionally spouting another stream of fire behind the flying hedgehog. Now that Sonic is airborne, the battle becomes a matter of size versus maneuverability. Sonic is much faster and much more agile than Ra, but avoiding the opponent is only useful to a point; it can't help him win a battle.

"Sonic! Use Seed Flare!"

This time when Sonic pulls a U-turn to avoid a Flamethrower and fly the other direction, he attaches himself to Ra's neck. I can't see that far from the ground to know what kind of chakra flow he's got going up there, but I do see the enormous explosion of energy that starts from Ra's neck and almost engulfs her whole body. She whirls up as if thrown off her flight path by the explosion.

I worry when I see Ra go into a dive. Was that explosion actually powerful enough to take her out in one blow?

No. The way she pulls up suddenly shows me what she had in mind. Her amazing, focused eyesight allowed her to pick out the falling shaymin from the sky; she swoops down to catch the Pokémon before it can slam into the ground. My initial reaction was correct; Ra was injured by the Seed Flare explosion, but she performed an Aerial Ace. By flipping around quickly and performing an aerial somersault, she was able to reduce the damage, shake Sonic off her neck, and strike him in the air when she flipped back around.

Timmy and I each recall our Pokémon. He looks upset that he lost, but I tell him to bear in mind that Sonic put up a remarkable fight against an opponent who was highly resistant to his attacks and could deal loads of damage. "That's what I mean when I say not to give up until you see how it will go."

Then I get curious about Sonic's transformation. Timmy tells me a story that sounds like a fairy tale. He says shaymin learn how to transform when they come into contact with a Gracidea flower. They only tend to grow in the surrounding areas of Floaroma Town in the Sinnoh region, although botanists have been able to grow them in greenhouses in other areas, most notably in Goldenrod City of the Johto region. According to his story, the flower alters a shaymin's biochemistry such that it can transform from time to time. Its "sky form" can't be maintained, apparently, at night or in the cold. Its "land form" is apparently its default, but after absorbing a certain amount of energy—usually pollutants, including the methane released by large fires—it can transform and use that energy to make itself more powerful.

"That's impressive," I say. That's all I can come up with right now. I don't think the twelve-year-old is as interested in the genetic details as I am. I'll have to do more research later to figure out exactly how this kind of biological change is possible.

Victor is up next in a battle against Deborah and her Articuno. I know his lugia is a psychic type, and I'm tempted to speculate more about his odd ability to communicate with Pokémon, but the cold air distracts me. Everything the articuno has to offer can't be contained by the Light Screen around the field, which makes all of us spectators immensely cold. Lisa and I cling to one another for body heat, but before we know it, the articuno is unconscious and the cold air lifts. Apparently Victor is still upset about that loss yesterday. In his battles against both Sunday and Deborah, he and his Pokémon acted like they were fighting for their lives, nearly obliterating the opponent quite quickly.

The rest of the round provides wider, more varied, more intense action than all the battles before. Bernie's groudon gives Victor the lead when he defeats Sunday's raikou, Geoff's regirock earns him a second win when it beats Anfernee's heatran, and Emily's suicune ties her for second place when she defeats Jess's latias. Now Victor leads at 4-1, and everyone else is either at 3-2 or 2-3. If Victor doesn't lose every battle for the rest of the tournament, I don't see how any of us can claim the prize from him.

I need to be the one to battle him. Ra and Musashi might be the only one who can deal Victor's powerful and maybe psychic Pokémon another loss.

Just as the lunch staff members show us to the patio where they set up the lunch tables, Mayhan steps in to rekindle my paranoia. "I must remind you that lunch will only be served for one hour today," Mayhan announces.

Jess replies, "What?" sounding louder and more anxious than I would have. Here we go again with Mayhan messing up her schedule… Instead of having four hours between the morning battles and the afternoon battles like we did so far, we have only one hour to eat. Mayhan asserts this schedule helps maintain the theme of pushing our Pokémon's stamina. I think he's trying to keep us where he can see us. If he doesn't, who knows where we'll wander off and what we'll find?

"Where's Remy's group?" Bernie asks. "It's hard to believe they could all oversleep this late."

I almost forgot about them. I wonder how missing this round of the tournament affects their standings. Are they even qualified to continue participation?

Geoff shakes his head vigorously. "I don't think they slept in." He catches my curiosity, and so I ask for an elaboration. "I noticed their names didn't even come up on the computer's tournament brackets this morning when it did that rapid-scrolling random selection. It was quick, but I noticed only twelve names. Someone knew they weren't going to show up."

All my suspicions about this tournament come flooding back to me. I convinced myself last night that the conspiracy was unlikely, but now I can't convince myself of the same argument. I'm not surprised someone overslept during this tournament, but what are the odds those _four_ would just happen to oversleep on the same morning? What if Fell lied to me about those bruises… and he and his friends were actually wandering the island every night? And if we were all invited because of our legendary Pokémon, then what happens to the trainers?

"What are you saying?" Anfernee asks. "That they were disqualified or something?"

Geoff shakes his head. "I'm thinking something worse. Maybe they went wandering around on the island and got attacked by that slaking that Jin almost killed."

Anfernee, Emily, and Jess knew nothing of this story. Following Geoff's gaze, they all look to me. "You almost killed a slaking? When was this?" Anfernee asks. Emily goes one step further and asks if that's what created the wound on my chest. Jess wonders why I would try to kill a slaking.

My first instinct is to lie and do whatever it takes to change the subject. With all the time and energy I focused on Lisa, I almost forgot about my trip into the jungle. (Recovering from the chakra exhaustion also lent to forgetting.) Lisa noticed the wound last night and asked me about it, and I told her what happened without hesitation. But I certainly don't want anyone else getting the idea that we should go exploring the island, although I consider the possibility of doing so by myself in case Omar and the others are still alive in there somewhere and need help. I can move faster by myself, so maybe lying to keep the others in the dark is the way to go.

Ultimately, the conflict of inner voices tells me that being honest is easier. It's easier to answer questions for which I don't have to fish for answers.

"We started into the jungle to see what was out there, but we had to turn back; the trees are too thick to get through easily and all kinds of bugs' nests abound. When we turned around and started back to the mansion, a slaking emerged from the jungle and attacked us. I managed to scare it off, but not before it wounded me a few times."

Lisa never asked me how I managed to scare off a slaking, but a part of me suspects she knows already—about my sword-carrying habit, that is. I actually think for a brief moment that the others will just leave my story at that. But Emily, Anfernee, and Jess all know something's missing from my story. Even Timmy asks how I could possibly fight with such a big Pokémon and not get hurt by it. A rampaging slaking is on par with the strength of a legendary Pokémon, yet _I_ beat one?

I'm hesitant to reply. It's strange to me because this is first time in recent memory I can remember wanting to get _out_ of the spotlight. I'm not sure why I don't want to say anything. I didn't do anything wrong, yet the idea of carrying swords to a tournament not centered around martial arts seems ancient and embarrassing to me, like it makes me a dinosaur.

"I was armed; that's how I wounded and scared off the slaking."

Anfernee whistles and comments how much stronger I must be than I look in order to pull that off.

"You're like a human Pokémon," Timmy says, half-serious. There's some humorous consensus among the group that I'm probably as close as a person gets. I guess I do have a little bit in common with a scyther when I'm armed. And I haven't even told them about my chakra manipulation.

Jess glares at Shawn with a look that says she's fully aware that Shawn was part of my exploration group… and she doesn't like being left out of the loop. She turns to me and asks, "Did you find anything at all? You guys didn't really turn around just because the trees are thick, did you?"

Bernie is the first to say, "There was some kind of toxin or something that got us feeling really sick."

"No, it wasn't a toxin," Geoff argues. "It was more like some kind of electronic interference—some kind of high-pitched noise that irritated our eardrums and messed with our brains."

Shawn shakes his head and says, "That's not what I remember. It was just… heavy. Like a giant, wet blanket smothering us and pushing us away from the jungle."

That's weird. I never spoke to these three about why we left the jungle, and so I didn't realize before there were such discrepancies in our accounts. I remember the buzzing noise like thousands of insects pounding against my forehead, but the other guys experienced something different. I guess Lisa notices a look of confusion in my eye because her hand reaches out and touches my arm gently.

"Do you guys have any bite marks on your body?" I wonder aloud. "Anywhere? Bug bites or anything?"

One by one, they each deny having any extra bite marks. Shawn adds, "I thought that was weird, too, because there should be millions of bugs in the jungle, yet I'm clean."

How could the four of us each experience something different, yet still have the same symptoms? A toxin, interference, and heaviness all describe nausea and indicate potential headaches, which we all had in varying degrees. I remember thinking after the fact that I must have imagined the bugs because I had no bite marks or anything on my forehead. But the other guys didn't even _feel_ the bugs? Now I'm curious about the jungle again, and about that electrical surge that ultimately sparked our trip. What in the world is going on here? And did Omar's group get mixed up in it somehow?

"I don't really care about continuing these Pokémon battles anymore," I confess. "I want to know what happened to the others."

"So, what? You're just going to skip this round?" Emily asks.

That might be too obvious. What if I claim I'm feeling ill, and I let Lisa summon Ra in my place? I hardly bother calling out commands, anyway, and Lisa is familiar to Ra already. That might work, and I don't mind taking a point deduction or a forfeit or whatever for this round. The odds against me winning the tournament are gargantuan, and I find myself caring less and less as time passes. Solving the mystery of this island is more important to me than prize money.

"I have a better idea," Jess suggests. She looks around to see how many staff members can see us, then suggests we find somewhere a little quieter. Off the patio and around the corner of the house, we find a nice little nook between mansion walls right above the cellar door that leads to the basement. The windows here are too high to provide a meaningful vantage point without opening them and looking straight down on us, and we'd notice that.

She pulls her Ultra Ball from her side and summons her latias Ilya. A latias is a fascinating creature. She's a bird-like dragon that actually looks like an airplane. Her wings grow from her lower torso and are fairly rigid, like a plane's. The feathers on her lower body are red, but they become white above the breast. She has a red, pentagonal ring of feathers on her face and a blue, triangular ring of feathers on her breast.

This latias is four and a half feet long and weighs less than a hundred pounds, but Jess says that by enfolding her feathers, Ilya can refract light in order to alter her appearance. I seriously doubt how effective such a transformation could be because it really isn't a transformation, but simply the manipulation of someone else's vision.

_Trust me!_

What the hell was that? It sounded like someone talking—female—but it wasn't a voice I recognize. There's something odd about the voice, though. It seems to have come from somewhere in front of me, yet at the same time, it's like it came from nowhere.

I'd figure it out except that the reflection of light in front of my eyes causes me to flinch and cover my face. I'm quick to adjust, though, and use my peripheral vision to see what's going on in case I need to defend myself. Defense isn't necessary, though. Ilya's feathers stand and fold in ways that bend the light around her body. Apparently she added some chakra-based energy to the light because instead of just altering her own body shape, _she actually looks_ _like me!_

"What in the world?"

I can't even begin to describe how bizarre it feels to look into my own face like this. When I stare at a mirror, the other face makes all the same movements mine does. But this face just remains still while I examine it from every angle. I reach out to touch it, but Ilya's light show is merely an illusion; I touch a feather, which distorts the "transformation" a little. Ilya isn't as tall as I am, so she has to stretch her feathers to make it _seem_ like she's my height; she also has to do a kind of hovering/standing on her hind legs, which don't look that strong to begin with.

"That's amazing," Lisa says. "That is almost flawless." Bernie says there's something off about it, though.

Jess smiles. "Yeah. She's really good. As long as no one touches her, she can act like Jin for the next round of battle. She can summon Ra, and since she can't physically speak anyway, it won't be hard to convince people that Jin's just not giving any commands to his Pokémon. When she's done with that, we'll say you're tired or sick or something and make it look like you're going inside. Then I'll recall her and summon her in my own battle."

I hate to state the obvious, so Shawn does it for me. "What if _you_ have to battle him?"

Jess seems at a loss of logic. Instead, she simply says, "What are the chances of that happening?" To be specific, the chances are one in seven, assuming I'm not going to be pitted against anyone I've already battled and Omar and Fell don't reappear for the next round.

I might have chosen to use this strategy, but Mayhan himself makes a point of approaching our group at that moment and noting that lunch hour is complete and the next round of the tournament is soon to begin. (I quickly hide behind the cellar door in an uncomfortable manner such that Mayhan can't see me.) I don't think for a minute it's a coincidence that he approached us seventeen full minutes before an hour passed or that he made this announcement personally instead of sending a staff member.

Ilya, still refracting light in order to look like me, nods at Mayhan's words a little too enthusiastically to be me. Mayhan takes a closer look, then he lets out a surprisingly cheerful chuckle. If he weren't the focus of my conspiracy theory, he'd almost seem like a friendly guy. But why's he laughing?

"My goodness. That is an amazing likeness." As he turns to walk away, he comments, "If you were to try that again, you might try harder to put the scar on the correct side."

Damn. He's right. I was so caught up in how close Ilya's transformation was to resembling me perfectly that I forgot I wasn't actually looking in a mirror. I'm only accustomed to seeing my reflection, so I didn't notice in such a short time that the scar was on Ilya's right "cheek" instead of the left; her transformation basically took on my mirrored form. Bernie smacks himself in the forehead, saying he knew _something_ was off with the transformation, but he couldn't place it until Mayhan pointed it out.

Jess recalls Ilya and we all head back to the garden arena for the next battle. I appreciate her willingness to help and her cleverness in devising a plan, but we'll need to use a different approach now. I hate raising hell out in the open—I prefer to remain hidden and sneak up on my opponents—but the option is looking more and more like the only viable option.

"There's definitely something going on," I whisper to Lisa as I note the curiosities going on around us.

She whispers to me, "We'll look around as soon as this round is over. The ship is scheduled to be here in the morning to send us back home. We'll have all evening to look around." She pats me on the chest and adds, "Calm down for a minute. We'll play by their rules for now."

I can't refute her logic; her words seem obvious to me in hindsight. A moment ago I was eager to raise hell finding Omar's group while fighting off any and all mutant Pokémon, and one moment of listening to Lisa forces all those panicked thoughts aside. She really is a special woman, and I really hope we can spend some more time together after we're done on this island.

Assuming we _get_ to leave…

* * *

_I think we've past the halfway point now. The next chapter will be the first of the big reveals, if I ever figure out how to word it..._

_If you care and don't want to do the math I mentioned within the chapter, here's the summary of the round:  
Bernie's groudon beat Sunday's raikou;  
Geoff's regirock beat Anfernee's heatran;  
Emily's suicune beat Jess's latias.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	14. A Round of Conspiracy

**A Round of Conspiracy**

We weren't gone all that long. Maybe ten minutes we spent away from prying eyes learning about Ilya's transformative ability. But while we were gone, we lost one more tournament participant.

"Where's Deborah?" Geoff asks.

I share his concern. First four of our fellow competitors disappear without so much as a goodbye, and now Deborah disappears in a ten-minute span in front of witnesses? We're fading fast. There's no time for Lisa's wait-for-an-opening approach anymore. Mayhan has some questions to answer _now!_

"She went inside after eating," Sunday tells us nonchalantly. "That girl cares even less about the bunch of you than I do." She takes another sip of her wine and just sits there like she doesn't know—more likely doesn't care—what's going on.

We're not alone, however. In addition to the remaining trainers, Mayhan, and the usual staff waiting to clear the table and others maintaining the grounds, there's a new man stuffing his face with the uneaten food. He's seated, but he looks to be little more than five feet tall, and nearly the same width—a very stout man who seems to eat like a duck. I'd say he eats like a pig, but pigs tend to chew. I can't help but stare at this phenomenon; how can a person actually eat like that? Does he have to dislodge his lower jaw first? I half expect him to do what all those cartoon characters did in my youth and put a whole pot roast in his mouth, close his lips, then simply spit out a bare bone. He's got cheeks so big I'll bet he's storing nuts in there for the winter. He also has a full beard and mustache, wet from the wine and full of food crumbs.

"Miss Deborah has decided to leave the tournament early," Mayhan tells us. I'm listening, but I can't stop watching the human snorlax over there wolfing down his food. I've never seen anything like it.

"Why would she leave?" Lisa asks. "She was doing pretty well. Don't tell me she just gave up after losing to Victor an hour ago." I would be awfully surprised to hear a self-confident woman like Deborah quit after one devastating loss. She doesn't strike me as one to give up, but rather to get even. And Victor is still here, smug as ever.

Mayhan points us to the table where a grizzly is preparing for hibernation. "I would like to introduce you to Oliver Goddard. He came to the island last night at the personal request of Professor Zamia."

Goddard stops chowing down for a moment and eagerly wipes his face as he stands up. He extends one hand that's soaked in grease and vegetable juice. Does he actually expect any of us to shake that hand? He looks slightly embarrassed when he notices his hand is disgusting; he grunts an apology and wipes his hand on his pants leg then extends it again, still greasy but now with cotton fibers stuck to it. I'm not interested in touching it without a latex glove or two wrapped tightly around my hand.

Goddard clears his throat—I wish I weren't watching so closely because I can count the flecks of food that spout from his mouth—and begins to explain his presence. "Professor Zamia offered your cohorts a monetary exchange for their legendary Pokémon." He speaks with a heavy accent and still spits a little when he talks.

"He bought their legendary Pokémon?" Shawn repeats. "For how much?"

"One point two million," Goddard replies without missing a beat.

Now he's got my attention. More than a million dollars in exchange for our legendary Pokémon? Speaking monetarily, that's better than winning the tournament. I suppose it makes sense; Zamia, or whoever's pulling the strings here, wants legendary Pokémon as research subjects. That's probably why he invited the bunch of us. After watching a few rounds of battle to determine how strong our Pokémon are, he decides he's pleased with the specimens and offers to purchase them. And to make the offer almost too good to refuse, he offers an amount higher than we'd receive if any of us was to win the tournament. I suppose it's possible all the others agreed to the deal if they really value the money. It certainly sounds like an enticing offer to me; with a million dollars in a high-yield savings account, I'd be set for a long time.

"Hoooooly crap," Bernie utters. Everyone in the group seems a little surprised by the amount offered. Sure, we'd lose a rare Pokémon in exchange, but a million dollars could purchase a dozen slightly less rare Pokémon, and still have enough left to buy a nice house or pay off student loans.

"Indeed," Mayhan says. "Mr. Goddard here offered your fellow trainers cash directly from Professor Zamia and a free helicopter ride back to the mainland."

Emily doesn't sound so convinced. "They all took the deal?" Mayhan asks why that is so hard to believe. "Pokémon are more than just creatures that we carry around for the sake of a strategy game. They're friends. No serious trainer would give up a friend for _any_ amount of money, and those four were _serious_ trainers." That's an excellent point. The money is amazingly attractive to me, but I can't imagine what it would be like for me to give up Ra. No amount of money could accommodate the loneliness that would grip me. And if _I _have the weakest attachment to my Pokémon of our group, I don't see how it's possible _anyone_ would sell his or her Pokémon.

"Why didn't you know that this morning?" I ask Mayhan. He looks at me quizzically, as if _I'm_ the one whose comments don't add up. "This morning, you weren't sure what happened to Omar and the others. If Goddard got in last night, why didn't you know about it?"

Goddard clears his throat again. "I'm afraid I got in terribly late last night. Mayhan was already asleep at the time, but I did come across four trainers—the latios, zapdos, entei, and rayquaza." Nice. He remembers them by business deal instead of by name. There's a trustworthy guy. "I told them of the good professor's offer and they took it on the spot. Apparently they were all a bit strapped for cash. The boy couldn't believe he was being offered so much cash for a Pokémon he simply chanced upon, the two women are apparently having difficulty with their breeding business, and the older gent is not pleased being a salesman anymore. I gave them the money and offered them the helicopter I rode to the island, and they left last night." He adds that getting in and closing a business deal so late is also why he overslept this morning and we didn't see him until now.

"What about Deborah?" Shawn asks. "She was just bragging that she was going to make a comeback and take home the big prize. That's not the boast of someone ready to quit."

"Apparently the pretty lady was more interested in the money," Goddard says. "She's the type who likes to buy fancy things. A million dollars will buy her _lots_ of fancy things."

Lisa looks to Victor. "Did he offer you the deal?"

Victor laughs. "Palidor is worth _way_ more than a million dollars. Besides, I'm about to win this tournament, which means I'll have the million-dollar prize, _plus_ another rare Pokémon, all while I get to keep Palidor. Why on earth would I take a deal like that?"

Sunday has a similar view. "A million dollars is a mere pittance. Gunther is worth more in breeding circles and showcases than that." It goes without saying that money means more when you have little. Sunday is a psychiatrist who earns three hundred dollars an hour. Sometimes I wonder if she's ever actually helped anybody with that snarky attitude of hers. Then again, maybe hearing other people's crap so often is what made her as cynical as she is.

"Yes, well…" Goddard straightens himself out and tries to look more professional… with food crumbs surrounding his mouth… "The professor has authorized me to extend the same deal to each and every one of you. Is anyone interested?"

I take a look around to see everyone else's reaction to the offer. I know it makes me flinch, but it doesn't seem to have that effect on the others. Emily asks him, "Didn't you get the point to all that? We're not giving up our Pokémon."

Anfernee nods in agreement. "You can go ahead and count us out of your conspiracy. You can't buy our compliance. You can, however, tell us what _really_ happened to the others." I couldn't agree more.

Goddard looks nervous. He's obviously not a poker player; the sweat is visible on his hairline and his upper lip is curled when he speaks. "I assure you that there is nothing sinister in this deal. Your friends simply decided that money is important to them." Mayhan just looks a little spacey.

"Then a helicopter is standing by to take us all back to the mainland?" Bernie assumes. "Where is it?"

The sweat factory under his forehead increases production. "I implore you to take the deal," Goddard pleads. He bites his lip and holds his breath, silently hoping that we'll all sell out our Pokémon for a temporary increase in taxes. I have a bad feeling about this guy. Why is he so desperate for us to take the money and leave?

Mayhan sighs. "Yes, sir."

_What?_

Mayhan takes a deep breath, and then he looks at us with the face of someone who is bored of maintaining his façade. He relaxes his facial muscles completely and he looks almost menacing in his calm. In this instant, I know for certain the monetary offer was a sham. Omar and his friends didn't sell their Pokémon and flee; Deborah must have seen some clue that she wasn't supposed to see.

I wish I were armed.

"The time for games is over," Mayhan says. He lifts his chin just a tiny bit—perhaps indiscernible to the untrained, unprepared eye—and I have the sudden urge to leap to the side. As I move, I end up knocking Jess and Shawn to the ground, but it's worth it to avoid being hit with the club carried by one of the cleaning staff. He's a big guy, and he obviously decided to try to knock me out first. (He may have succeeded if I weren't already so suspicious of Mayhan.) I don't know what the club is made of, but it's just big enough and smooth enough to knock me out without breaking the skin on my skull. The guy swung it with such force that because he missed, he spun around and stumbled to the ground.

And there're more of them. All the servants, dressed in their white pants and white T-shirts, have identical clubs and start swinging away. Were they carrying them in their pants pockets or what? Bernie and Geoff go down instantly from a crack to the occipital bone. Some of the food staffers were apparently carrying chloroform; Timmy is easy enough to dose, and Sunday can't put up much of a fight from her seated position. By now, the rest of us know what's going on and can respond more appropriately. One guy grabs Emily from behind, but she stomps on his instep and swings her fist into his groin. The guy keels over, unable even to howl in pain. But then another one shoves her to the ground and jams a needle in her arm.

Now there're needles? These guys are better prepared than Batman. Lucky for me, they don't fight like him, though. When the biggest guy grabs for Lisa, she kicks him inside the knee, punches him in the gut, and flattens his nose with her fist. She thrusts a knife-hand into the next guy's throat and incapacitates him instantly. It's amazing how easily she can take down a guy twice her size.

It's not _as_ easy for me, but these guys underestimated us terribly if they think we're helpless trainers. From the guy who missed me, I sweep up the club and use it to clock him in the leg and the back—enough to knock him down without hurting him irreparably. And now that I'm armed with a weapon that extends my reach, I can do a lot more damage. It's no challenge to sweep one guy's legs from under him and then slam the butt of the club into his belly. And it actually feels a bit exciting and invigorating to bat a second club from another guy and begin nitojutsu techniques with less lethal weapons. I haven't been in a real fight in a long time.

Twelve assailants in the area. Five of them are incapacitated, but they've also knocked out everyone except for Lisa and Victor, who are standing across the patio from me. Now the attackers are afraid to get too close to me or to Lisa. I guess they'd rather not feel the sting of two wooden clubs cracking against their bones. I'm able to expand my peripheral vision by releasing focus from everything in front of me. I can see the feet of Mayhan, Goddard, and all of their under trained staff members, just in case any of them try to make a move.

"It seems your level of training was not exaggerated," Mayhan says with nearly tangible frustration in his voice. He looks to me as if struck with an idea of great brilliance. "You confessed to me that you managed to survive an encounter with a wild slaking. Do you think you can do it twice?"

I knew that smell was familiar. Behind me, past the patio and toward the jungle, I can hear footsteps. It smells like wild animals… but how wild can they be wild if they respond to Mayhan with obedience? I turn my back to the staff members—paying close attention to the sounds and the feel of the air behind me—and look at the ragtag group of Pokémon that come barreling out of the trees. I recognize the three slakings that emerge—not as individuals, but as slakings, I mean—but the others are different. I think we've got two hariyama, as well.

Hariyama are bulky creatures that look a lot like linebackers. Each is around seven and a half feet tall and four hundred pounds. Their hands are at least three sizes bigger than mine and its feet are pretty much a match. Their bodies are remarkably muscular, their heads are bald, and their faces are actually quite small. These hariyama are wearing blue scraps for pants, which is already fairly odd. Even weirder is that they don't look like the same kinds of Pokémon I've seen in battle before. For one thing, these hariyama are narrower at the waist than what I remember; I remember them resembling sumo wrestlers. And aside from the fairly human-sized ears they have, each has five fingers and five toes; I'm pretty sure a regular hariyama has _three_ fingers per hand and _two_ toes per foot.

And there's something weird about the slakings, too—something I didn't notice in the dead of night even with the moonlight. Slakings are normally covered in fur like a bear, but these things coming out of the jungle look more like a man wearing Bigfoot makeup; they look just like tall, fat, and hairy, _ugly_ men. (Two have brown fur, but the one-armed one has much lighter-colored fur—like a beige-white.) Their noses are flat like a swine's snout, but they aren't pink and the nostrils aren't long slits. And for some bizarre reason, they're wearing pants—ragged white pants that just barely cover up the groin and waist. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was just looking at a bunch of old, fat guys descended from a desert people who'd been stranded on an uninhabited island for a few years.

"What happened to them?" Lisa asks. She also notices the physical oddities with Mayhan's Pokémon. Come to think of it: How did they get here like they did? He wasn't carrying them around in a Pokéball, and they'd have to have Kryptonian hearing to have heard Mayhan threaten me like he did.

I don't even have the first guess what's going on here. All I know is that I have no desire to be mauled by wild _things_, either. My feet automatically leap out of the way, carrying me a few feet behind the sharp claws of the brown slaking. I remember the other one being pretty fast, but I obviously misremembered _how_ fast they are; this thing is moving way more quickly than I remember. And now he's got a fat hariyama-thing to help out. I definitely have questions for Mayhan now, but I have to focus on my own safety and then the safety of everyone else here. If that means I have to kill a couple of deformed Pokémon, that's a price I'm willing to pay.

But I'm not strong enough right now. I can ignore my leg pain when my life is on the line, but I still need to get my chakra flowing if I plan to deal any damage to Poké-freaks that outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more. And considering I have two opponents now, I need to prioritize stamina and agility.

The first thing I do is pull my right arm back past my left shoulder, then whip it forward. As I do, I release the club and send it flying as quickly as I can. Right behind it, I release the club in my other hand. The first connects to the slaking's nose at full force, and the second bounces almost harmlessly off the solar plexus of the hariyama. With both Pokémon startled and my hands free, I place my right hand over my left palm and form the monkey seal. This alignment of active neurons stimulates a very specific flow of chakra from my heart throughout my body. The monkey causes vast improvements in the nerve conduction of my extremities and increased blood flow through my cerebellum. Doing so gives me heightened balance and coordination—key characteristics of agility.

The hariyama pushes past the slaking and thrusts its open palm at me. I can feel all the air being pushed in front of the open hand, and it serves as an extra buffer to help me step aside. I plant my right leg in the hariyama's lower back right at the kidneys, but I'm not stupid enough to think I'm a superhero capable of defeating two much-stronger opponents alone. While I spin away, I quickly whip up both my Pokéball and my Safari Ball, summoning Sundance and Musashi to help me. It doesn't take Sundance even ten seconds to recognize a bad situation; he crouches down to begin generating his chakra flow and looks ready to pounce as soon as danger presents itself. Musashi looks to me for advice, but I think my body language tells him exactly how tense I am, and that clues him in to the fact that I don't care how badly he hurts our opponents.

Sundance launches himself straight into the gut of the slaking and releases a large Thunderbolt straight into the ugly ape. The hariyama uses another Arm Thrust, directed at Musashi this time and my bladed Pokémon slashes wildly across the open palm, tearing to huge gashes across the skin.

But this is no time to scrimp on the security detail. I pull my Ultra Ball and regard it for a moment before I summon Ra to the patio. If she can't control herself, her flames could seriously harm my friends. On the other hand, she might be able to quash this scuffle and protect the others while I beat a confession out of Mayhan, who doesn't seem to have any Pokémon to summon.

Before I come to a decision about Ra, I feel the air shift between me and Mayhan. Sundance and Musashi struggling against the freaky slaking and hariyama, but Lisa and Balboa are already knocked out by the other freaky Pokémon mutations. Mayhan is simply observing me calmly for the moment, meaning he didn't cause the shift in the air—not directly, anyway. A strange creature shoots through the air faster than I can respond; it did leave behind a blue stream of light that burned my retinas and causes me to see a yellow line through the same path the creature took. I just barely got enough of a glimpse to see that it looks like a round lightning rod with blue eyes. And I think it just merged itself with my Ultra Ball.

_Ow!_ I instinctively drop the Ultra Ball when a severe electrical shock surges through my hand and makes my fingers go numb. The ball hits the ground and cracks; the electromagnetic energy that Ra becomes when she sleeps in the Ultra Ball spills out and reconstitutes into a twelve-foot-tall phoenix. Ra was summoned against my conscious effort, but I welcome her presence. I feel safer with her in front of me.

But then I realize the Ultra Ball is broken. The device that allows the transformation of Pokémon DNA into electromagnetic energy is cracked and fallen off the Ultra Ball. That means Ra is a free Pokémon again; she has no connection to or protection from my Ultra Ball and is fair game for anyone to capture if he can manage the feat. Mayhan looks thrilled to see this, and I see him pull an indigo—maybe purple—Pokéball with a single red stripe around the middle. I watch him throw the ball directly at Ra and hit her in the chest, transforming her instantly into electromagnetic energy and pulling her into the ball. Her power is too vast, though, and the ball flails wildly, even on the ground without being touched, as Ra's energy fights to burst from the seams of the ball. It should pop open in just a second…

Why isn't it popping open? Is Ra really that exhausted from her earlier battle? Or did Mayhan throw some kind of Pokéball that can contain _any_ amount of chakra? If that's the case, I have to break it right now before he's able to take Ra away from me. Mayhan is reaching for the ball and the four oddly human-like Pokémon are within my peripheral vision.

_No way!_ How'd he get behind me? Was there a fifth Pokémon?

I forgot all about him. I panicked when Ra's Ultra Ball broke and Mayhan tried to capture her, and I stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I let the one-armed slaking—the one I assumed bled out after I removed its arm—get behind me, in the perfect position for a killing blow.

A voice grumbles, "This is for my arm." It was a low, thick voice with a kind of lisp that struck me as odd.

Did that slaking just talk?

"_Huuungh!_"

* * *

_Well, that was longer and more fun than I thought it'd be. You like how I spelled the sound a grown man makes when you knock him out from behind?_

_I originally planned one more tournament battle, but it really didn't make sense to include it at this point; Jin wouldn't have it, so I continued with the story. This chapter didn't have the big reveal I expected it would--one of the side effects of writing a full story in which I try to connect all the scenes, I suppose. It did have a pretty important reveal, on the other hand. The next chapter's reveal will be even bigger. For any of you who worry that I might not actually explain things, I've already titled the next chapter "A Round of Explanation." Rest assured the story will make big progress next time._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	15. A Round of Explanation

**A Round of Explanation**

Hours have passed and I feel like I just tried to chop down a tree with the base of my skull. I've got a knot the size of a rattata back there still painful to touch. But I'm in one piece. And I'm not bleeding. Why?

I finally open my eyes and look around. I'm in some kind of facility; the heavy air and damp walls suggest I could be underground. The lights are low and the walls are concrete. Very thick, too; there's no echo when I knock on them. Is this some kind of bunker or bomb shelter or something? This can't be an underground lab; Geoff said the electrical output on this island was through the roof, but the lights here are dim fluorescent bulbs. I'm surprised I can even see. I'm sitting on a single, woolen mat on the concrete floor, which might also explain a little bit of my pain. Shelves line the wall with canned foods—mostly vegetables. If this room is anything like the bar inside the mansion, this food is probably as old as Musashi. There's a small metal door on the one open end of this little cube.

The door swings open abruptly, prompting me to jump back and prepare to defend myself. My head swells and I feel like passing out again. That knot starts throbbing. I guess I'm not in great shape right now. I've got goose bumps, which is a response to feeling cold or to fear. Am I so afraid of whatever's coming through that door? Probably not; the goose bumps have been there the whole time. More likely, I'm cold. That happens when my chakra stops flowing, and I vaguely recall using the monkey seal against the slaking and hariyama.

Now I remember! Those weren't normal Pokémon. They were some kind of Pokémon mutation. Maybe whoever brought me here and kept me alive can explain it to me. Mayhan's is the face that comes through that door. He looks significantly more pleasant than he did when last I saw him… when he stole Ra from me.

"Up so soon?" he asks. "Impressive. Come with me." He motions with his head to a hallway even darker than the room I'm in.

I consider the possibility of jumping him right now and taking back my Pokémon, but I have no idea where I am, I'm disoriented from being conked in the head, and Mayhan's cronies already beat me up once. How far away could I really get? But I'm not going anywhere right now; I can barricade myself in here for a while with all this food, even if it does turn out to be stale. I'll be safer in a room where I can keep my eye on the only entrance.

Mayhan is less patient than I am. "Come on, boy," he says with an eager tone. "We can't well stay here all day."

"I'm not leaving," I tell him. "I have questions that need answers."

"And you shall have them," he assures me. He holds his arms up as if to signal that he's unarmed. "You can search me if you want to. Ah!" He reaches back into his pocket. "First, I have a peace offering." He hands me a Pokéball and a Safari Ball. "Your jolteon and your scyther, as healthy as ever. You may check, if you wish."

The balls certainly look like mine; they've got my family crest carved on the bottoms. I'm hesitant to take them from Mayhan, but I'd also like my Pokémon back. I can feel energy inside them, so there are definitely Pokémon in there. I open them up to make sure Sundance and Musashi are in there. My scyther with the twin-bladed arms and my father's green-furred jolteon both appear in the room. It's a great relief to see them again, and looking healthy. I don't know what happened to them after I passed out, but they seem to have been taken care of.

Why?

"Are you satisfied?" Mayhan looks even more impatient than before, like he thinks this whole matter is a trivial waste of his time. It's actually not terribly different from the expression he's worn through most of the tournament.

"Where's Ra?"

He shakes his head. "You'll get her back later." He reaches behind himself and drops two sheathed swords to the floor in front of him. "These should prove to you that I wish you no harm." He steps backward down the hall, still facing me. "Let me know how far is enough and I will stop. I would offer the weapons you brought to the island, but the blades were dulled and deformed." I remember; that happens when you try to cut through bone. I cautiously pick up the weapons he's offered to examine them. There are actual swords inside—not just a hilt attached to the scabbard: stainless steel, good quality, single-edged. Two wakizashi; not the xiphos I'm used to, but they'll certainly get the job done.

"Do you wish to check me for arms?" He lifts his arms as if to surrender. He's awfully insistent that I search him. It's obviously very important to him that I know he's unarmed. He must be trying to build a level of trust between us; he's know that I'm a swordsman, plus he gave me two of my Pokémon back, giving me an advantage if he were to try anything. He's clean. Pokéballs are tough to hide in a suit that tight, but I check him, anyway. His size and muscle mass might worry me if I didn't know exactly where to hit him to take him down.

"Now?"

"Where's everyone else?"

He shakes his head. "They're safe. Do not worry about them. Let's go."

"Fine. But you stay in front of me."

"As expected from an intelligent man as yourself."

The hall is dark, but a few feet in, my eyes adjust to the low light. There's nothing here for me to take note of. The walls are very nondescript; concrete usually is. I don't see anywhere for hidden soldiers to jump out at me. By the same token, I don't see any place for me to break away from Mayhan. And where are the other trainers? I'm alive, so they _must_ be. I have to hope.

"Why keep me alive?"

"The professor believes you are a man of science," Mayhan tells me. "Your knowledge and understanding of the physical sciences exceeds your status as a teacher at a community college, and whereas most people see Pokémon as a friend or pet, you see them as research tools."

That's not entirely true. But I want to see where he goes with this.

"He's asked me to show you around the grounds and explain our research. I believe he seeks to add your young mind to our research team. Undoubtedly, you have questions that need answers." We finally reach a four-way fork in the hall, and he turns to the right. I'm cautious around the corner, but there's no one lying in wait to ambush me here. It's a small staircase leading up to a heavy door, like for a storm cellar. Mayhan pushes the door open effortlessly and glances back at me with a smile. Now I'm really worried.

We emerge from the storm cellar into the jungle. I place my hands together to form the dog seal—one that will send chakra through my vestibulocochlear nerve and heighten my hearing—when Mayhan tells me, "Do not risk your health like that. I assure you that you are safe. If you wish for reassurance, you should summon your Pokémon instead. The excessive use of chakra will only stress your nerves and increase the rate of cell death. Is a temporary, unnecessary improvement in hearing worth going deaf in the near future?"

No, I suppose not. I actually like his idea of summoning Sundance to my side, though. He'll respond to any approaching danger. Maybe I should bring out Musashi, too, and still send the chakra through my ears. I don't think I can be _too_ safe here. This part of the jungle is fairly open, almost glade-like; the trees are not nearly so dense here. It's like this area was cleared out for the facility. I wonder how long it would take me to get from here to the mansion through the trees.

"Think of this, Jin," Mayhan tells me. "You were unconscious for two hours. Had we wanted you dead or impaired, we would have done it to you then." That's a fair point. I do suppose it was a waste of time and energy to tend my wounds, arm me, and return two of my Pokémon if all that was just an empty gesture. "Come on, now. We have much to see, and indulging your conspiratorial fantasy wastes too much time." Maybe, but I still feel like I can't trust anyone on this island. Speaking logically, I should be safe; I still want Sundance's ears and nose by my side.

I step fully out of the cellar with Sundance in front of me. Now I finally take my eyes off of Mayhan so I can see my surroundings. And I am amazed by what I see.

We're in a kind of glade of the jungle. I can see several yards away where the vines and saplings grow in tight with the fungal and floral life again, but within this glade, I find dozens more of those strange-looking Pokémon walking around. They are all quite grotesque, and mostly naked save for scraps of clothing around their midsections. Many of them have drab skin tones and abundant bodily hair, yet some are very nearly bald, with few visible sections of hair atop their heads. There is a much wider variety of mutations than resembling only slakings and hariyama. They look very human for having such a powerful animal air about them.

Their grotesque appearances and animalistic behaviors—their gait, their expressions, and their very _beings_—do not prevent them from showing remarkably human traits. As I stand here with my mouth agape and Sundance's ears perk up, these creatures are assembling logs and tarps into a shelter of some kind. Maybe they know it's supposed to rain today. It's not the first building they put together, either; there are buildings everywhere in this glade. Mostly wooden homes, it seems, but there is a single, metallic dome in the center of the town.

And these creatures are talking to one another! It's tough to discern many of the words; clearly, some are more skilled at speaking than others. A lot sounds like grunting and snorting, but I can pick out a few words every now and then. What a truly fascinating sight.

"What is this?" I ask incredulously.

"They are Pokémon," Mayhan tells me without batting an eye. "The product of Professor Zamia's research."

"They aren't Pokémon," I argue. "They are _people_."

"They most certainly are _not_ people. Have you not heard of vivisection? The humanizing process?"

"_Look at them!_ They are talking and building houses. Pokémon don't do that! You've taken people and done something to them. Some kind of horrendous, genetic experiment to turn men into animals."

"That is a truly ridiculous assertion," he insists. "These creatures were never _people_. They are vivisected Pokémon. Just stop and think of it logically for a moment. If the professor wanted to experiment on humans, we would import humans to the island—yet we seek Pokémon. That is why we bring trainers and wild Pokémon to the island. If we wanted humans, we would bring in criminals or the homeless or someone society might never miss."

"_That's_… true, I guess. But that doesn't mean—"

"Come now, boy. You have your weapons. You have your Pokémon! Do we really need to go into another conspiracy theory? I would appreciate your patience while I explain the process." He motions toward the dome. "Zamia awaits inside the dome. Let us go and waste no more time."

I need a few minutes of Mayhan glaring at me before I feel calm enough to keep moving. The idea that these grotesque people were all once Pokémon is a stressful revelation for me. Now I summon Musashi to be by my side as well, for I want all the protection I can get.

Mayhan begins talking as we walk, and I sincerely doubt that he would even pause for questions as they come to me. So I just listen.

"These are, in fact, Pokémon that have been reconstructed to appear human. Of course, the more closely they already resemble humans, the easier the process is on their bodies and the more likely they'll survive. Perhaps more important, as you pointed out, is the level of intelligence in these creatures. Pokémon are already known for their intelligence and mental plasticity—how they adapt to new people and places… But Pokémon can be educated further. Cerebral structures can be altered even more readily than the bodily components, and the simple process of myelination can completely change the way the brain works. How easy is it to override an organism's inherent instincts? Through knowledge gain or hypnosis, even through simple surgical procedures; entire neural networks can be reconstructed, and instincts can be perverted or even erased to change the organism's behavior. All it takes to make a slaking seem human is in the larynx, the so-called 'voice box' that allows us to communicate using meticulously-formed phonemes. Once they have this structure, translating thought to word is little a difficult task."

I'm still following him, but I'm dividing my attention between Mayhan's words and the words of some altered Pokémon a few yards away. They're staring at me as if _I'm_ the crime against nature, and they speak constantly amongst themselves. I can hear through the grumbling words like "monster" and "laws." I can only assume my mere presence violates some societal law they've set up to preserve the peace of their home. Perhaps that's why one of them attacked me the first time I entered the jungle with Bernie and the others.

"And you've done this, why?" I ask Mayhan. "To breed stronger and smarter Pokémon? What's the point? Zamia isn't a battler; he never was, as far as I can tell."

Mayhan sighs the same way as a man who might soon decide murder is simpler than explanation. "This was never about breeding superior battling Pokémon; Zamia has little interest. It was all about finding the limits of biological plasticity. Surely you know the only way to determine the limits of biology is to push the boundaries. Why are humans and Pokémon so structurally similar, yet so different in key ways? Why are Pokémon able to be transformed into electromagnetic energy via the Pokéball, yet the same cannot be said of any other living organism? There is something innate in the biology of Pokémon that is unlike anything else in this world. To find that mechanism—that one, special feature that makes a slaking more closely related to a rotom than to a man—Zamia decided to make a human out of a Pokémon. Through the transitional process, surely the answer will eventually present itself."

He glances at me briefly. "You must think it a despicable practice. I felt the same way for a time. I thought it impossible and completely immoral to alter what nature and evolution spent billions of years creating. But it is no difficult task to alter one's physical form. Transplanting tissue from one area of the body to another… Many humans use such a feature through the use of BOTOX. Pokémon exhibit such behavior all the time as they grow. Each stage in a Pokémon's physical development, what the trainers called "evolution"—quite the misnomer, really—shows us that the physical body does not contain fixed structures, but rather pieces of tissue that die, emerge through regrowth, and can be readily altered to suit the changing needs of the organism. The physiology—chemical and hormonal rhythms of the body—also requires but a simple alteration; vaccination through use of dead or dormant pathogens certainly alter the way a human body reacts to disease-ridden agents. Through the movement of tissue from one part of the body to another, or even from one _organism_ to another, we find that it is relatively simple to change a being's most intimate structure."

"But the immorality doesn't come from taking creation into your own hands," I suggest. I was never all that religious. "How painful is this process to these poor creatures?"

Mayhan scoffs. "Please. Pain is merely a state of mind. It is merely a way by which our nervous system alerts us to potentially harmful stimuli. Surely you have seen men receive wounds during battle and continue to fight as if he were never even contacted."

"I also feel constant pain in my leg."

"Pain receptors are not present in the muscle itself. It is not your entire leg that feels pain, but rather a few select locations. The skin little needs pain; the skin is simply a barrier against outside agents, and pain merely warns us of an opening in that barrier. But even the nerves themselves do not all send pain signals to the brain; important, sensory nerves interpret no such signals. There is not a hint of pain in the optic nerve, for example; injury only inflicts upon you flashes of light, just as injury to the auditory nerve results in humming—which might happen one day if you do not ration that ability of yours. Plants do not feel pain, nor do many lower creatures. It is only with the more complex systems that pain comes in. As intelligence grows, pain is needed less and less; intelligent beings care for themselves and their companions more intelligently without pain as a necessary reminder. Those afflicted with CIPA learn to protect themselves from the toils of the outside world even through congenital insensitivity to pain."

I have no idea how well I can agree with his words. His claims, outlandish as they may seem to me, are based in solid theory, but despite his excess of words, he does little to explain them. The finer points of _vivisection_, as he calls it, are ultimately more complicated than that. There are factors to account for such as autoimmune reaction, graft-versus-host disease, and a multitude of infections that occur when the body is invaded by incompatible cellular agents.

As we reach the dome, it becomes clear to me that Mayhan has little else to say, yet he has hardly told me a thing.

"Why do you want me?" I ask. "It sounds like this is the kind of research you and/or Zamia can do with the people you've already got working here."

He lets shows a little half-grin. "Ah, yes. Your little theory that Zamia and I are the same person… I assure you, I am merely Zamia's assistant. But it never hurts to have another disciplined mind around."

"Then why is Zamia hiding from us?"

Now Mayhan looks like I just asked him what he got me for Christmas. I asked him a very heavy question, and even though he really wants to answer it, he's not sure he should.

Finally, he caves. "Professor Zamia will not live forever as a man. He grows closer to finding the answers he seeks with every passing day, but he will not be satisfied until he discovers and proves the distinct cellular difference between man and Pokémon. To that end, he has sought a way to lengthen his life. He released rumors that he had children in order to explain the extended life of his name, but his body is still mortal.

"But he discovered the existence of Pokémon that have existed for millennia. And, perhaps prematurely, he has attempted to use the strength of their DNA to extend his own life." He sets his hand against a palm-print panel outside the dome. After a light scans his palm and the machine emits a beeping sound, the door unlocks and begins to slide open. "Unfortunately, genetic adaptation is not yet an exact science. There were some side effects."

When the door opens, my eyes do not examine the inside of the dome; instead, they focus immediately upon the deformed man standing a few meters before me. He is, perhaps, nine feet tall, with a body as thick as the trunk of a tree. Adding to the tree-like effect, his arms and shoulders—big as they are—give off a Pig-Pen-like effect with some black gas flowing densely enough to be visible, as if the man had cloud-like wings. Even more notable is his lower torso; his knees seem at a permanent hunch, perhaps because of the _tail_ growing from his hind end. It isn't very long, but a tail is a tail, and people generally lose their tails _in utero_. And even in the rare event that a human is born with more vertebrae in the coccyx than usual, it has never reached three feet long like the one sported by this hulking mass. And it seems like the rear of the spine grew thicker with the tail and began to develop four noticeable tumors. Are they tumors? It looks like the two closer to the front of the body might have _toes_! Are they superfluous, underdeveloped legs?

He's wearing naught more than a cloak over his rather centaur-like lower body, which, I suppose, makes sense; how do you find pants to fit haunches like that? His upper body is bare, revealing the inordinately pale—almost gray—skin that seems marked by a few darker stripes of skin. His head still looks mostly human, save for the exceptionally large frontal bone that almost makes a V-shaped crest on his forehead.

All my righteous indignation spills out into a single, sarcastic phrase: "What in god's name is that thing?"

The freak of nature even more disturbing than those earlier mutated Pokémon steps up and extends its kite-sized hand toward me. "Allow me to introduce myself," it speaks with a voice so airy and ghastly it sounds like the man has laryngitis. "My name is Charles Zamia. Welcome to my home."

* * *

_I apologize for what I am about to say, but I need to take a temporary break from this. Fortunately, it is not writer's block that keeps me from moving on; I just need a break. You ever spend a few months writing a story and get to that point where you just want to take some time off and do some of the other things on your to-do list? Well, I have that right now. (And I'm so stringently schedule-oriented, I feel like I have to let you know that I need time off.) This story is nearing completion and I hate to leave you in the lurch for too long. I should post again by the first Sunday of April (one month, max., is not too bad). I'll come back with answers to questions such as: "What happened to Zamia?" "What is this chakra crap Jin can use?" "Where is everyone else?" and "What's Victor's deal?_" _Please ask if there are other questions you have that I haven't covered yet. I will still answer and respond to reviews or private messages._

_Eventually, I'll let you know about the probability of having the readers contribute a bit of the story from the perspective of a trainer other than Jin. When I do, obvious priority goes to the person who created a given character (if he or she wants to participate with that character), but all of my trainers are up for grabs (except Jin). I'm going to wait for one more chapter before I give any more details because I don't want to spoil anything that's about to happen. For now, just think about whether you'd want to describe a battle from another character's perspective._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	16. A Round of Quicksilver

**A Round of Quicksilver**

The inside of the dome is enormous. It's not the size of Cowboys Stadium, but it covers the area of my college campus. I can identify a few of the massive machines, like the mass spectrometer and the laser ablator, but there are some machines Zamia points out to me that I've never even heard of; even the description of their purposes I thought was just fantasy. And his assistants are few and far between, and they're all freaky Pokémon-humans like those slakings I saw outside.

"How did you get started on this crazy line of research?" I ask him.

"It is an amusing story," he says, probably confusing the word "amusing" with "bewildering." "I started as a mere research assistant—a lab technician, for the most part. I monitored equipment through various experiments and kept detailed notes every step of the way. But after one particularly devastating incident when an experiment went quite awry, I decided to leave Cinnabar Island and head for mainland Periodos. But during the trip, the ship capsized and stranded us on this island—I and Mayhan and four deckhands. I still remember how empty the island seemed at first. How _inviting_—like it was made for me and my research."

He continues without pause, a trait he and Mayhan share. "When we arrived, the deck hands built a number of huts near the ravine and I went to work with what I had been able to salvage from the ship. I chanced upon clues to the existence of Pokémon never before discovered, likely even more powerful than the legendary Mew. One discovery led to another, and I became the leading expert regarding the rarest and most powerful Pokémon. When I finally had the money necessary to answer my real questions of plasticity, I began my research.

"A few rather disappointing things happened at first. My first experiment into biological plasticity was with a mareep; I accidentally killed it after two days with a slip of the scalpel. I was more careful with the second mareep, but even after I left it bound to heal, it was still lacking something, despite its remarkably human appearance. When next I approached the creature, it remembered me and the pain associated with my presence, and it fled; it was still no smarter than a mareep. I saw it as clumsier and less useful every time I saw it until finally I put it out of its misery. An animal without courage—a thing driven by an aversion to pain—is no good for man-making.

"The next effort was a slaking. It took me a week of work, night and day, but with ultimate care and precision, I managed to make a man out of a Pokémon. Molding the brain took the greatest of efforts; much addition and alteration to existing structures was necessary to make an intelligent creature of it. When I confirmed the creature was still alive, I finally rested, only to find Mayhan's expression much like yours. He had heard the constant cries of the Pokémon through the nights. I did not tell all at first, but slowly I convinced him to my side.

"But nothing was as important as the brute. Slowly, day by day, I educated him. I taught him to speak, to count, and the rudiments of reading. He was notably slow in all of this, though I have seen idiots who were slower. Eventually I named him, and when his scars healed, he resembled a man, though slightly malnourished and harmed."

He stops talking for almost a minute, taking several deep breaths. I think he might be ready to admit something he can hardly bring himself to say.

"This research is far from done. As soon as my touch leaves behind the flesh of these Pokémon, the beast within them begins to reassert itself. The flesh and instinct of the monsters are persistent. You have already seen what happens to Van from time to time—when he loses his humanity for a time and feels the influence of the slaking…"

"Van?" I ask. But I suspect I already know who Van is.

"The white-furred slaking," Zamia tells me. "The one of whom I nearly had to take control to keep him from wreaking revenge for the arm you removed. On that note; though I do not fault you for protecting yourself, I do wish you had not felt it necessary to deform my work so thoroughly."

"If that really bugs you so much," I say, "why rearm me?" I pull a single sword from behind my back and hold it not at the ready, but at still a threatening position. I want to make sure Zamia sees my point.

He doesn't even flinch. He simply stands there with his arms behind his back and his belly exposed. "I do not believe you would attack me unprovoked. You would achieve no benefit, and in fact would be at a severe loss with no one to answer your questions."

Damn it. He has a point. And despite the revulsion I feel toward his line of research, I can't bring myself to be his executioner for it. That is something better left to the authorities, whom I will certainly contact when I get the chance. I whip the sword around and slide it right back into its scabbard.

"Why make men?" I ask, not intending it to be a gender-based question.

He shrugs. "I suppose it was a form of arrogance. The shape of a man just seemed to be most natural to me. Perhaps in the moment, I found it the easiest form with which to judge my success or failure."

"Was it before or after your first test that you decided to search for the fundamental distinction between man and Pokémon, as Mayhan described it to me?"

"It was after, of course." He smiles as if he finds it amusing that I did not immediately follow his train of thought. "Like all science, mine followed the basic progression. I began with a question, I devised a way to find an answer, and that left me with a new question. Each step of my research led me from plasticity to the fundamental core of humanity."

Oddly enough, I feel I can accept that answer. I still can't see myself ever being so curious as to ignore natural morality and to disturb Pokémon ecology so thoroughly, but by placing myself in the shoes of a man with a less sincere sense of honor and dignity, I can understand Zamia's desire to know the things that we can't otherwise know. But there's still one question I can't get to stop nagging me until I ask.

"What in the world happened to you? You look like a mutant Pokémon."

"You are not far wrong," he tells me. "As Mayhan explained to you, I have adapted proteins synthesized within a Pokémon body into my own DNA.

All he tells me for now is that he had an adverse reaction to a vaccine he gave himself when he tried to extend his life. Apparently the dormant cells were not so dormant, and the virus activated and infected him with a mutagen that altered the shape and appearance of his body at the cellular level. I've never heard of a virus that causes a fully developed human body to grow superfluous limbs, though.

"I know there have been few occasions in which a person was born with such a congenital defect. But for a man of your advanced years to develop polymelia _spontaneously_… What other effects have the virus had on your body?"

Zamia smiles at me, which is rather odd and creepy with his worm-like face. "You see? You are smarter than you give yourself credit for. The administrators at that college where you work have no idea who they have casually placed in the science department."

Hesitantly, I ask him, "Does that mean you won't answer my question?"

"It is a long and complicated answer," he says. "Are you familiar with the colloquial concept of _aura_?" Zamia asks me.

"Aura? I don't think so."

He huffs with amusement. "The aura is a field of energy that surrounds the body of a living organism. It is the very force that connects all life on this planet. Aura is the energy produced by the healthy body; it is what gives us the nearly supernatural strength some seem to possess. The hypothalamus signals the pituitary gland to release a hormone called auraline. The addition of this hormone to the bloodstream improves potency and oxidation, and it can even be redirected into the nervous system to improve electrical conduction and neuronal firing. All together, a strong aura is testament to a healthy person."

"I've never heard of that hormone."

"I am not surprised. Its existence is so rare that few biologists have even managed to study it. Auraline is produced in such minute quantities that it is undetectable within the vast majority of humans. Although every living organism has that spiritual energy known as aura, without auraline, that energy cannot be utilized."

"Utilized how?"

Zamia looks off into space as if preparing to enter story time. I feel like I should be sitting on a carpet square with my legs folded under me.

"Long ago, there were a few people called Aura Guardians who traveled from place to place, striving to put right what once went wrong*. They were heroes of the people, using to their aid a great power known as _aura_ in order to perform services for the benefit of the world's citizens. This aura power they possessed was not unlike the power used by Pokémon. It is that common thread between all life, but only a handful of organisms can use it to their benefit."

"I assume you are one of them?"

"As are you," he quickly replies.

"_I_ am?"

He explains, "A long time ago, the Aura Guardians disappeared. But that does not mean their bloodlines faded. In each generation, there is a small number of people capable of utilizing that energy for purposes greater than sustenance. Using specific alignment of the nerves, they can send their aural energy into a specific region of the body to improve specific bodily functions."

I make the connection almost immediately. "Chakra."

"Indeed. You see, the Aura Guardians disappeared long ago because of internal strife. Some sacrificed themselves for a greater purpose, but the majority killed one another over power. Two great kingdoms waged a continuous war against one another—a war so long in development that no one knows what started it. After a century, each kingdom employed Aura Guardians to end the fighting and spare the remainder of the armies. The two squads of Guardians agreed because they knew that by killing their opponents, they could retain all that power. But in the end, the Aura Guardians killed one another, leaving behind almost no trace of their power.

"Yet some descendants must have survived. As time wore on, certain generations produced people whose brains produced auraline at increased levels. Some of these people went on tour to showcase their abilities for money. Some decided to make money by teaching Pokémon how to channel their own auras into the same abilities the tutors could use. And some became mercenaries—hired hands who used their powers to the benefit of whoever offered the biggest paycheck. They are known colloquially as _ninja_."

I've heard that word, and not just in old martial arts movies. My grandfather's neighbors referred to him as a ninja master. He admitted to me years ago that he earned money in his youth acting as a mercenary. The reason my mother was never wild about my training with my grandfather was that she was afraid I might follow that same path, but I opted for a simpler life—one where my life wasn't on the line half the time.

"I know of your grandfather," Zamia says. He types a few keys into a computer, and a file on screen pops up with my grandfather's life story spelled out. At first I'm offended that he committed such an egregious breach of privacy, but he preempts me with, "I never invite a man to my home unless I know everything about him." That's a fair point. "I also know what the excessive use of aura—or _chakra_, if you prefer the term—has done to your grandfather." His voice softens and he almost whispers creepily as he leans forward slightly. "And what it will do to you if you keep using it."

So he knows. Is it because he's been spying on me? Because he read my grandfather's medical records? Or maybe it's happening to him, too.

----------

_I gave my grandmother a big hug when I saw her; it had been almost two years since the last time I visited. She was glad to see me, but she felt guilty about asking me to stay with my grandfather while she went out for a few hours._

"_How's he doing?"_ _I asked._

"_He's about the same, which is better than the alternative, I guess," she told me. "He's hardly strong enough to sit up on his own anymore, but he's too strong to throw in the towel just yet."_

"_I don't doubt it. He's a fighter."_

_As she put on her coat and grabbed her keys, she asked me, "Are you sure you don't mind staying for a little while? I know it's an enormous burden."_

"_It's not a burden," I told her. "He's my grandfather and I haven't seen him in a while. We'll be fine together. At least you know he's not going to take me outside and try to beat me up again like when he taught me how to fight."_

_She chuckled and admitted my point, then left to go run errands and visit with a few disconnected friends. That left me alone with the man who was just a few steps above comatose._

_Grandpa was bed-ridden now, stuck in his room without the ability to move on his own. It was weird to see him look so helpless when he had always been physically the single strongest man I knew. He lost maybe half his body weight and looked no more than a layer of skin loosely pulled over a human skeleton. His cheeks began to droop, his hairline receded tremendously, and the look in his eyes was one of absence._

"_Did you finish your homework, Toshio?" I think he mistook me for my uncle._

_I shook my head. "Toshio is your son. I'm your grandson Jin, remember?"_

_He nodded as if he simply misspoke. "Of course, Jin. Have you been practicing?"_

"_I have. I actually just performed last weekend with Musashi. We won a nice little trophy for our Swords Dance choreography." I reached into my bag and pulled out the trophy—a small display of two gold-plated swords crossed like an X. I set it on the dresser next to the door. "I actually thought you should have it. You deserve more credit for the Swords Dance than I do, and it's a way for you to remember the time we've spent together."_

"_That's nice," he said. His voice was softer and hoarser than it used to be. He used to have such a commanding presence. I doubt now he'd even be able to form a chakra seal without a second person to move his fingers. I noticed the television remote at the side of his bed had only five buttons—"power" and two buttons each for "channel" and "volume"—each about the size of a quarter. There was a cable at the end of the remote that attached it to the arm of the bed incase Grandpa dropped it. Manual dexterity was tough for him these days._

_I sat in the chair next to Grandpa's bed and spoke casually to him while we watched a Pokémon tournament on TV. Only about ten minutes passed when Grandpa suddenly interrupted me and asked:_

"_Did you finish your homework?"_

_It was still amusing at that point. I told him, "I finished all my homework a long time ago."_

"_You always were a good student, Toshio."_

"_I'm Jin," I reminded him. "Your grandson. Sachiko's boy."_

_I think it was the eighth time we had that same exchange when I psychologically realized there was nothing amusing about Grandpa's condition. This was a serious deficiency, and I think my grandmother was being optimistic when she said Grandpa wasn't getting much worse._

----------

"As I said, the aura is the very force of life on this planet. Every use drains a piece of that life from the individual who uses it. In your grandfather's case, the proteins in his brain have been afflicted with proteopathy; the proteins are abnormally shaped, thus interfering with the function of his brain. It has likewise affected the majority of his body, hasn't it? He shows significant loss in manual dexterity, his muscles have deteriorated, and he's down to simple phrases, isn't he?"

I have come to terms with my grandfather's debilitation, but it is not a conversation I have ever enjoyed. I even tended to blow off the doctors when they tried to explain the issues to me and my grandmother.

"Pokémon generate auraline in much greater quantities, and therefore are capable of using such abilities without such severe impairments."

"What's your point?" I ask Zamia. "That I have this same 'aura' ability and I'll end up just like my grandfather if I use my chakra too often?"

"No," he tells me. "My research may yet provide a cure for such debilitating diseases."

I'm suddenly struck speechless. Can his research into the basic biology of Pokémon really bring about a cure for cellular and neuronal deterioration? He begins to walk away from me. "Before we get caught up in that particularly long subject, I want to show you how this island got its name, and where I started my research."

Quicksilver? What does that have to do with his deformity? Then again, I can't answer any of my questions without Zamia around, and I really want to know if it's possible to improve my grandfather's condition, so I suppose I should just follow him.

In the center of the dome, there is a small staircase with six steps. After that, the path turns into a thin, winding path of rock. After the path wraps around twice, the room opens up into a cavern with sparse light. All I can see clearly is that the path ultimately ends at a large lagoon. It seems like the lagoon stretches all the way into the infinite darkness on all sides of me. The water seems to glow with a silvery light, and it is so still it seems almost like a solid.

"Is it mercury?" I ask. "Is that why the island is called Quicksilver?"

"No, and yes. It is water, but the light in this cavern makes the lagoon look like silver. Not only did it give the island its name, but this is where I determined the goal of my research."

"I don't follow."

And so Zamia delves into his philosophical monologue. "Ancient alchemists believed quicksilver to be the _prima materia_, the formless base of all matter. It is the so-called _chaos_ which existed in primordial times before the creation of the universe. Surely, you are familiar with the legends of creation." I am not, but that might be because the mythology is more prevalent in the Sinnoh region.

_"__In the beginning, there was only a churning turmoil of chaos.  
At the heart of chaos, where all things became one, appeared an Egg.  
Having tumbled from the vortex, the Egg gave rise to the Original One.__  
From itself, two beings the Original One did make.  
Time started to spin.  
Space started to expand.  
From itself again, three living things the Original One did make.  
The two beings wished, and from them, matter came to be.  
The three living things wished, and from them, spirit came to be.  
The world created, the Original One took to unyielding sleep…"_

I've never heard that before. It is obviously supposed to be a story of how the universe began, with God being born of the _prima materia_ in the form of an egg. Apparently the people of Sinnoh believe God is either a bird, a reptile, or a Pokémon.

"Thusly do the people believe the universe began. These same people believe the depths of the sea and the expanses of land were created by legendary Pokémon, and that yet another dragged the continents into place."

Have they never heard of the Big Bang or continental drift?

"I once thought these nothing more than bedtime stories told to inquisitive children by parents who didn't know the answers… I suppose I still do, to a degree. But I have learned, at least, that all of these legends are based on the powers of observed Pokémon. Except for one… the Original One. I believe that _One_ to be the legendary Giratina."

"Giratina?"

"Surely, you have heard the name before."

It sounds familiar… It must have been recently. Where else but here would I have heard it?

"_They're Pokémon that live in another dimension," Geoff says._

"_Here we go," Bernie groans._

"_What?" Geoff replies combatively. "They created the universe. Giratina created this dimension, Dialga controls time, Palkia controls space. Giratina also created another dimension where all three of them live."_

"Something about living in another dimension."

"Yes! Giratina dwells on a newer plane of existence, one where the laws of physics and nature do not apply. It is in that new dimension that I discovered a Pokémon for whom the fundamental particles of matter have reversed electrical charges. All mass is identical, but the charge is opposite; electrons are replaced with positrons and protons are replaced with antiprotons."

"Are you talking about antimatter?"

Zamia smiles. "Yes, this Pokémon lives in a realm of antimatter. In the first seconds after Giratina's Egg hatched, nothing existed save for energy. Perhaps matter and antimatter existed in nearly equal parts, but matter formed in slightly greater quantities, and the residual matter when it all collided gave us this dimension. But the antimatter was not completely destroyed, and a second dimension was created as a mirror to this one."

Suddenly he becomes more animated when he speaks. "Imagine the vast amounts of power that could be readily available if such antimatter could be harnessed! A half a kilogram could power the entire country for two days. Of course, storage is a challenge because antiprotons repel one another. If they were to be condensed, Langmuir waves could cause instabilities among the particles and destroy any kind of container. Hence, the difficulty with studying such particles in this dimension."

"But, that suggests you have access to the other dimension." Then I mentally smacked myself. "Of course you do. That's how you discovered these other Pokémon. Does it have something to do with this pool of water?" It seems ridiculous to think that crossing the surface of water will take me to another realm of existence, but I have seen a lot of movies.

"No. This place was merely my inspiration. This _prima materia_ is what inspired me to seek the most basic component of Pokémon… that one aspect of their biology that humans lack that a Pokéball can capture."

I silently wondered why he never bothered to dissect a Pokéball to its base components to see if that doesn't give the answer he's looking for. I guess it's because he's a biochemist and not an engineer. Maybe he lacks the mathematical skills.

"Allow me to take a step back. The alchemists believed that by breaking the _prima materia _into the active principle and the passive principle, the two principles could reunite as the _ultima materia_; that is, merge a body and soul into a perfect, reborn human."

"And you have done such a thing?"

Zamia nods once. "I have, but ever since, I have been unable to replicate my result. In fact, you are quite familiar with the result."

_I am?_

Footsteps behind me alert me to the fact that we're not alone anymore. I can tell by the weight of each step on the stone floor that it's someone who weighs about the same I do. I can tell by looking that he's almost my height, too. He's got softer features, though, and no scar on his face. But he looks smugger than I've ever been.

"You called?" he asks in that annoyingly arrogant voice.

"_Victor?_"

* * *

_* I couldn't resist the _Quantum Leap_ reference._

_I know who the Original One is, and you know who the Original One is, but try to see things from Zamia's perspective: If you have never seen or heard of Arceus, but you know that Sinnoh myth and you found three Pokemon in another dimension, wouldn't you come to the same conclusion? What reason would he have to think Giratina was left out of the myth? Regarding the antimatter comments; I'm not a theoretical physicist, nor did I especially care to do extensive research on the subject. If I planned to publish this story, I would do the research because I'd want to weave a more convincing yarn, but because I'm sure you all don't really care about it, either, I just kept it simple._

_The next chapter will give a more specific explanation for Zamia's appearance and will describe what happened to everyone else (including Ra). Just to gauge interest levels, please let me know if you would be interested in writing a small section of the escape from Quicksilver Island and which character you might want to narrate._

_Additional thanks go to Happy2BMe for helping me bounce around ideas to explain why the Aura Guardians disappeared (they haven't explained it on Bulbapedia).  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	17. A Round of Recombination

**A Round of Recombination**

"_Victor?_" He's the product of Zamia's research—the _ultima materia_ that is supposed to be the link between people and Pokémon? What does that mean? Does it mean he's a human Pokémon? How is that possible? What kind of abilities does he have? Which of these questions should I ask out loud?

"I can't _wait_ to hear this one," I say sarcastically. I'm not sure exactly what it is I'm feeling right now. What comes after bewildered exasperation?

Victor just smirks at me. "Go ahead, Pops. Explain it to him."

Zamia sighs and begins returning toward the staircase that leads back to the lab. "Think back to the Sinnoh myth. 'From itself again, three living things the Original One did make.' They are the legendary Pokémon that sparked such rumors as pixies, sprites, and elves. As ridiculous as such a belief is, they are thought to be the origin of wisdom, benevolence, and valor, and in general the creators of the human spirit. What do you think of that?"

_What do I think?_ What a stupid question.

"I think you're throwing a whole lot of stuff at me to throw me off guard. I don't care about the Sinnoh myth."

Victors scoffs at me. "I'm not surprised. He's just not poetic. He only wants to hear the science crap."

"It's not _science_ I want to hear," I retorted. "It's answers. How are _you_ supposed to be the ultimate life form? You can't even keep Lisa's attention."

He smirks, which makes me want to punch him right in the nose. "That's why you hate me, isn't it? Because Lisa _does_ still think about me, and you know that you can't do for her all that I could."

Zamia puts his hand on my chest when I step forward. I don't think I was going to hit Victor; I just wanted to intimidate him with a little threatening behavior.

"I must explain Victor's existence in a sequence," Zamia tells me, probably just as an attempt to placate me. "It will facilitate your acceptance of the facts." He turns and tells me he wants to return to the lab while we talk.

"Fine," I grumble and follow behind them. I watch Victor walk and realize I don't just hate him because he's Lisa's ex-boyfriend; he's also an arrogant prick.

"When I decided to incorporate Pokémon proteins into my own genetic code, I took notes from my plasticity experiments to understand how such a process might work and to estimate the likelihood of success. As I noted earlier, it was an easier process to create humans from Pokémon that most resemble humans already, and stronger Pokémon are more plastic and durable. Specifically, the slakings were the easiest to alter and produced the most effective humans because of their similarity to men and their innate power.

"On that note, I determined that the Pokémon we classify as _legendary_ would produce the strongest proteins and, in turn, give me the greatest health benefits. This island houses a dimensional distortion that allows travel into the realm of Giratina, the Original One. What better choice to prolong my life than the most powerful Pokémon in the universe? I obtained a tissue sample and began testing genetic recombination alongside my own DNA. When I finally achieved a successful symbiosis of Giratina's proteins with mine in a Petri dish, I synthesized a larger-scale injection that would alter my entire genetic code to give me Giratina's longevity. Perhaps I was overly ambitious; as you can see, the process did not work exactly as I planned."

That's an understatement. I've never seen a Giratina, but I might guess that it has gray, scaly skin and six legs. Judging from Zamia's ten-foot stature, I'd venture to guess Giratina is probably enormous, as well. But I wonder if Zamia's appearance was the only side effect…

Zamia's explanation thus far has taken so long that we're not only back in the lab, we're venturing toward the back of the dome where there is an area blocked off by a wall. There are familiar cages and environments for Pokémon all around us—like a big zoo, but it seems to contain mostly island Pokémon. There is a large case of Pokéballs of various quality, however; maybe that's where the rarer Pokémon are kept. I wonder if one of those purple ones is where they're keeping Ra.

"My mistake forced me to go back to the beginning. The more developed an organism is, the more its biology is set. Adults provide the most difficult of test subjects. The most resilient cells with the highest plasticity comprise the prenatal organism."

"You experimented on fetuses?" Why does that surprise me?

Zamia sighs and inserts a noticeable tone of disapproval in his voice. "Morality impedes the progress of science," he says. "People want to stave off death, but they refuse to study birth for arbitrary, superstitious reasons. In order to know the full biology of death, we must know the other end of the spectrum. The newly born and the almost dead have more in common with one another than they do with any other age group."

I hate to point out the obvious, but: "The 'almost dead' can give informed consent."

Victor says, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad he did it. I'm better than any other human on the planet in every way because of my Pokémon DNA."

"Oh, really? And what great _aura_ abilities did you get that make you so eager to play Mr. Hyde?" Then I remember what intrigued me so thoroughly during the tournament. "Are you psychic?"

"He is the perfect communication link between man and Pokémon," Zamia explains. He then tells me about three specific Pokémon I can only assume are the three from that Sinnoh myth. "The legendary pixies: Uxie, Azelf, and Mesprit. Each is said to have given man his higher qualities. Uxie made man intelligent. Mesprit gave man emotion. Azelf gave man determination." He chuckles and says, "Of course, this is all mythical nonsense, but the fact remains that these three Pokémon have such god-like qualities. In order to develop an appropriate blend of Pokémon and human DNA for an adult, I had to collect data on the most plastic of humans. When the body has not even finished developing, it is most capable of adapting new cells. That is the only perfect symbiosis I have yet obtained. And Victor has adapted all of the abilities these pixies possess."

"I become _one_ with the Pokémon," Victor claims. "I know what they are thinking, and I can change those thoughts to match mine. I think it and they do it. No more reaction delays. It is the same as if I were out there myself."

"And that is not where his power ends. He can experience the thoughts of opponent Pokémon as if they were his own. In battle, such an advantage allows him to formulate counterattack strategies immediately. No matter the strength of the opponent, he cannot be outsmarted. And only once has he ever been overpowered." Zamia's glance drifts toward Sundance, whose hair stands on end like he knows we're talking about him.

Victor puts on a devilish grin and steps toward my jolteon. "Shall I demonstrate?"

"Stop," Zamia commands. "I want to convince Jin to join me in my research. You will not garner his trust by taking possession of his Pokémon."

"Ironic statement," I retort. Zamia seems confused. He apparently needs to be reminded that: "You took Ra from me."

He just chuckles at me. "Pardon me for saying so, but you took her from me first."

I think my mind actually just went blank. "I didn't understand that sentence." It's like he's using words, but he's putting them together in such an order that it doesn't come out sensibly.

"Years ago, I captured a proud, lustrous ho-oh from atop the Tin Tower east of Ecruteak City in the Johto region. It was a vicious beast, but the effort will be worth it. It was the first Pokémon I studied for my longevity experiments. As a phoenix, ho-oh is essentially immortal. When a ho-oh reaches the end of its life, it bursts into flame, and from the ashes rises a new ho-oh to replaced the first. What better way to prolong my life than to make myself immortal? Imagine the scientific advancements I can make when I have all the time in the world to work."

"I can understand every part of that except the part where _I_ stole Ra from _you_."

He scowls. "The legendary pixies were more powerful than I could contain. Although I managed to keep tissue samples, they escaped from the lab. When they did, my ho-oh also broke free of her cage and made her way across the ocean toward the Kanto region. She chanced upon you during your visit to Navel Rock, and with her desire to hide from me, she allowed you to capture her and keep her hidden and safe."

"That's why that cage looks familiar," I realized as I pointed to the big cage next to the wall of Pokéballs.

Wait! _Why_ does it look so familiar? I feel like I've actually been here before, but other than that weird dream, I've never seen a caged ho-oh. How could I possibly "remember" a cage I've never seen? _I'm_ not the psychic one.

"That was a… strange… side effect," Zamia says.

"Side effect of what?" I ask him. But as soon as I ask, an answer hits me: "Did you gain abilities when you incorporated Giratina's DNA with your own?"

"I did," he admits. But he just stops there as if he doesn't anticipate my follow-up question. After I ask, he goes into a fleeting tirade about the frivolity of "type" classifications for Pokémon. Words such as "ghost-type" and "dragon-type" are simply efforts to simply the complex biology of Pokémon—to connect otherwise unrelated Pokémon through a series of arbitrary names for the aura techniques they can use.

"Aside from a certain degree of physical similarity," he finally says, "the auraline present within Giratina's DNA combined with the auraline already present in my own body to create a new type of ghostly presence." I have no idea what that means. He elaborates by saying, "I can use a telepathic form of astral projection to venture across the island without having my body ever leave this room."

"Like a ghost," I say. I'm not sure what I think right now; it all sounds so far-fetched.

"In a sense. This ability not only allows me to follow people on my island without being seen, but it allows me to affect their mental function." He obviously sees the confusion behind my eyes. "Without getting too technical, the molecules that assimilate to build my astral form can also disperse and infest the brain, working as deep as neuronal synapses to interpret or disrupt action potentials."

I think what he's saying is he can either read someone's thoughts or hinder cerebral function. If he were to impede neuronal function like that, he could make someone experience headaches at the least, or go fully catatonic at the worst.

"So if mind reading your ability, what side effect are you talking about?"

"It is a rather complicated and somewhat unique circumstance," he says. "Whether it be because of your specific arrangement of chakra use or the intense discipline of your martial arts training, I experienced inordinate difficulty interpreting your thoughts. Apparently a sufficiently disciplined mine such as your own can block telepathic abilities even without conscious effort. The only time I was able to reach into your memories was when you slept the day after your confrontation with Van. I hoped to learn where you discovered your ho-oh; the wound on its leg was identical to the one I inflicted when I collected tissue samples for my early experiments, and so I knew that the ho-oh you brought to this island was, in fact, the same beast that escaped from me."

Before I can complain about Ra again, he cuts me off with more information. "But somehow, my technique backfired and revealed to you images from _my_ memory concerning that ho-oh. I withdrew quickly, but you saw enough memory to see the beast confined to this cage." He also mentions another side effect concerning the effectiveness of the procedure; if anything, he suspects the fact that his body is trying to reject Giratina's DNA will _shorten_ his life rather than lengthen it.

"You tried to read my mind?"

He scoffs. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. I do it to everyone who steps foot on my island. I must maintain a certain level of security, and it helps tremendously when I understand the intentions and dispositions of my visitors ahead of time—lest more of my guards end up like Van." He mutters that he was able to warn Van each time Musashi implemented his strategy of targeting the basilica vein in the back, but because he couldn't read my mind, Van fell prey to my strategy of using my own X-Scissor attack to remove his arm through sheer force.

"Take your friend with the articuno as a prime example."

Deborah?

"She may seem innocently flirtatious, but she has a dark past and came here with an even darker purpose in mind."

"I agree Deborah is a bit… outgoing… but she's not a bad person."

He nods. "No, she is not a bad person. But she works for one. Miss Deborah is a member of the infamous Team Rocket. I assume you have heard of them? Their oath is, 'Steal Pokémon for profit; exploit Pokémon for profit; all Pokémon exist for the glory of Team Rocket.'"

Who hasn't heard of Team Rocket?

"Were you a member?"

He begins to laugh, but with his physical deformity, it sounds more like a series of wheezes. "Certainly not. Their motto is ridiculous and their purpose is entirely uninteresting. They wish to rule the world through the collection, use, and trafficking of Pokémon; I simply wish to learn everything there is to know about biochemistry. That is why Team Rocket hired me as a research assistant and I accepted. The leader is quite wealthy and funds ethically dubious research on a variety of Pokémon species."

He uses the words "ethically dubious," but he doesn't seem bothered by it. I guess it goes back to his theory of the science being more important than the organism.

"Deborah is one of them? I find that so hard to believe."

"People can surprise you," Victor points out. "You had no idea I was part Pokémon. You never really get to know some people. Does it really surprise you that Deborah is more interesting in money and power than in people's rights or maintaining the high moral ground?" Considering her disposition and her behavior when we first got here, I suppose it doesn't. She is definitely a game-player, and the only reasons for that are insecurity and manipulation; I really doubt Deborah is that insecure.

"And her boss undoubtedly sent her here to spy on me," Zamia decides. "Whatever beast leads Team Rocket truly believes that I possess the mew clone we worked on decades ago. I tell you honestly, I do not think the beast even survived that explosion. It was pure happenstance that I did, although my innate aura abilities may have played a role. And the research notes on the project no longer exist; the fires consumed them, as well. Mere fragments have survived in my memory and made their way into my current research, but I do not recall enough data to recreate such a scenario, nor do I have the inclination. I don't care to create bigger and stronger Pokémon when I can use my research, instead, to understand how life works, how it works, and even how it originally developed. Perhaps one day, I may even be able to determine the true meaning of life."

I have to say, even though he seems completely delusional at times, I can't help thinking he's somewhat admirable in his conviction, and he really does have honest intentions. I believe he doesn't want to rule the world and he doesn't want to breed superior Pokémon; he just wants to answer the questions of biology that can't be answered in the real world because people are afraid of crossing any ethical lines.

"Is that why you abducted Deborah? Did she find something she wasn't supposed to?"

"I tried to keep an eye on her the whole trip," Victor says, "but some of those Rocket women are sneaky. It's like trying to keep an eye on a snake in tall grass."

Zamia explains, "She chanced upon my notes regarding Giratina, Dialga, and Palkia. I cannot let her report such information to the Team Rocket executives or I will have to prepare for war; such rare and powerful Pokémon will certainly be high priority targets for ones who possess that level of avarice."

"So where is she?"

Now, suddenly, he seems a lot less eager to talk. I'm obviously worried; no matter what her affiliation or who she works for, Deborah doesn't deserve to be killed. I suppose I could understand detaining her for a time and keeping her on the island, but even that is only understood from the perspective of a secretive researcher. Victor is a sore loser, though, and he might have taken it personally that Deborah was too sneaky for him to keep an eye on her permanently. There's no telling what kinds of retaliatory torture he might inflict.

"She has been detained in the brig," Zamia finally says. "An empty room, of course, so she cannot learn anything else. The room is normally used to contain legendary Pokémon, so she will not be able to break out on her own. For added measure, I have Elden guarding her." I assume he's one of the lab guys, perhaps another Pokémon-turned-human.

"I want to see her," I say. I just have to know what happened to her. I guess… I need to know that Zamia isn't lying to me.

"That can be arranged," he says. He signals to a nearby slaking. "I will allow you room to speak with her privately, if you wish."

"Talk… and whatever else you want to do," Victor says with a smirk.

"Subtle, _jackass_."

The _brig_, as Zamia called it, is really just a bland room with equipment suited for testing big, powerful Pokémon. There are six cages lining the walls—four of them with some kind of naked, Pokémon-human hybrid inside, and one big one in the center. It seems like true overkill to detain a five-foot-tall woman inside a tube more than fifty feet around. She looks slightly panicked—as I would be if I were in such a position and didn't know what my captors would do to me—but she mostly looks scornful; she's giving that impression that anyone who wants to mess with her had better be ready for a black eye. She's got bruises on her arms that suggest she was manhandled into the cage.

Her guard Elden is—or was—a machamp. I can tell because he has four arms; that's a pretty dead giveaway. He's actually shorter than I am—maybe five-three—but with the extra arms and his bulky muscles, he's got to weigh somewhere around 350 pounds. He's got pale skin—almost a grayish tone, but still with a fair bit of melanin. Zamia said these humanoid-Pokémon have a tendency to revert to more primitive instincts, which explains with Elden here is given guard duty instead of anything in the lab; machamps tend to lack manual dexterity, and even though a humanoid one could probably undergo training, it's still better to avoid training him on any tasks that require a tender touch. I think those cumbersome fingers match the bruises on Deborah's forearms.

Deborah reacts to my presence with surprise, especially when she realizes I'm not being manhandled. Zamia unlocks the tube and tells Elden to give us a few minutes alone but to stay by the door on the other side.

All things considered, she looks pretty good right now. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," she says. It's obviously a lie, though; she's got a look of hopelessness in her eye. "I was just wondering if anyone would miss me. I didn't realize I'd get a conjugal visit."

Her joke just bounces off of me. I'm more interested in answers. "Anyone at Team Rocket, you mean?"

She suddenly looks like… well, like a spy whose cover has been blown. "You figured it out, huh?" I say Zamia told me. "I see. Well, you can't blame us for targeting a big name guy like him. He owns a wide variety of legendary Pokémon, probably including a number of them not listed in any national registry."

"And you figured while you were here, you could probably sneak off with a few of _our_ legendary Pokémon, too?"

She actually looks angry; maybe she feels a little guilty, but she's turning that guilt back into anger for Zamia and anyone else who judges her in order to preserve her self-esteem. "Yeah, well… That's basically why Zamia invited us, anyway."

I know that. He just wants to bolster his own collection so he can breed a bunch of newborn legendary Pokémon in order to prolong his research; eventually subjects die of old age.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask her, inadvertently judging her for her profession. "To steal Pokémon and cloning research?"

She scoffs at me. "Why are _you_ here, all buddy-buddy with Zamia and his little protégé? You decide to join the dark side?" An ironic question coming from a member of the most notorious gang of Pokémon trainers in the world.

But still, I feel a little bad for her, and we were intimate briefly, so I tell her, "He wants me to join his research team."

"As a subject?"

"As an assistant, I guess."

"Are you sure? He's not just going to do to you what he did to them?" She motions with her head toward the other cages.

At first, all I see is an attempt to turn a few Pokémon into humans. One of them looks like a twelve-foot-tall, snake-man; he very lanky, although because of his height, his arms are still as wide around as my torso, and his skin appears hardened as if scales. The specimen in the next cage looks more like a bird than a human, but still somewhat resembles a woman with a really big nose and a lot of excess skin—maybe feathers?—on her arms and gluteus. The next specimen looks more like a woman, but this one has a muzzle—like a dog's snout—and is afflicted with an obvious case of hypertrichosis—an excessive growth of hair. The fourth specimen looks like his legs and arms are shriveling a bit and his hips are beginning to expand into thin sheets of white skin and blue feathers. I'm not all that experienced with a wide range of Pokémon species, and so it takes me a minute to realize I've seen something similar to each specimen already… during the tournament.

"That's what he's going to do to me, isn't it?"

"He's not going to hurt you," I reply instinctively.

But then something undeniable catches my eye. The small one with the blue feathers and the white spot on his forehead… His eye colors don't match; his left eye is pale green in color and his right eye is a gold-hazel.

"Hey!" I yell, hoping to grab Zamia's attention. When nothing happens, I scream more loudly, so loudly, in fact, it startles Deborah. Elden opens the door and gives me a worried look, then Zamia walks in shortly after I yell a third time.

"There are more effective ways to get my attention," Zamia tells me.

I point straight at the cage. "Are you still experimenting on other grown people, trying to find that method of creating symbiosis between adult cells and Pokémon DNA?" Apparently _that_ question was one of those attention-getters he just mentioned. "Any chance this is someone I know?"

Before Zamia can answer, Mayhan comes to the door looking harried. "Zamia! There's a problem at the mansion!

Zamia sighs. "This is why I so rarely invite company."

* * *

_I'm going to try not to get too confusing from here on, but there's a lot of information to share and, considering the first-person view, it will all come out in turn. I know this was a full chapter, so I hope I didn't lose too many of you along the way. I bet you weren't expecting to have to take notes, were you? Here's the simple recap just in case it helps:_  
_1. Zamia combined his DNA with Giratina's, but the adult body shows adverse reactions to such experiments;_  
_2. Victor is a human who combined with Pokemon DNA prenatally, giving him nearly perfect symbiosis and the same abilities as the Lake Trio;_  
_3. Zamia is somewhat psychic;_  
_4. Ra used to belong to Zamia before she escaped and found Jin;_  
_5. Deborah is a member of Team Rocket and came to the island to find out what Zamia knows about Mewtwo;_  
_6. Something is happening at the mansion._

_Of all my plot twists, I bet no one predicted Deborah as a member of Team Rocket. And if any of you think Jin's reactions are a little too go-with-the-flow to be realistic, just think about how overwhelming all the information in the last three chapters were for you, and then try to imagine seeing and hearing it all for yourself and trying to assimilate it in such a short period of time. And imagine you're a curious student of the physical sciences.  
_

_I really want to thank Imagination Domination for, last week, giving me the best praise I could possibly ask for, and much more than I deserve. It made me feel awesome._

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	18. A Round of Lisa

_If the voice sounds weird to you, reread the title of the chapter._**

* * *

**

**A Round of Lisa**

My head has a knot the size of a bean bag chair, my shoulder is black and blue, and I feel like I did a belly flop off the roof of a two-story building. Opening my eyes is about as easy as herding cats. Oh, yeah; I was outside when the mansion staff went nuts and attacked everyone. And those weird Pokémon… I guess one of them slugged me pretty good.

"Oh, good. The young lady is up."

That sounds like Goddard's voice—that disgusting cow who can eat twice his body mass in one sitting. Why is he still here? I thought he was just some temporary hand Zamia hired to offer us a way off the island without being clubbed.

My shoulder is still tender, so I notice when someone touches me. "Are you okay?" I recognize the voice even though my eyes are taking a while to catch up; obviously Emily is still okay. Hers is the first face I see when my eyes finally start readjusting to being open. But there's a wall behind her head, meaning we're not outside anymore.

"Where are we?" I ask her.

"We're inside the mansion. They brought us here after they knocked us all out."

I take a look around to figure out who "us" is. Emily's the only one with a visible bruise on her forearm, and I can see the spot where she was injected with whatever sedative they used to bring us here. They obviously opted _not_ to waste a sedative on me, judging by the lump on my head. Jess is nearby, too, and she looks okay, though incredibly anxious; she's tapping her foot pretty rapidly and erratically on the floor. Sunday looks remarkably calm as she lounges on the couch with her legs crossed; she looks madder than anything else. Maybe she sees being taken hostage during a Pokémon tournament as a huge waste of her time; I wouldn't be surprised if she thinks she's the only one being inconvenienced.

Bernie and Geoff are huddled in the corner of the room whispering to one another, which means they're okay, I guess. Shawn is sitting right next to Jess, draped over the back of the couch with one hand on her shoulder. Anfernee is on a separate couch, leaning back all the way and just staring straight up at the ceiling. Timmy is seated on the couch in the fetal position. He looks really scared; I can't imagine being twelve years old and getting involved in this mess.

Come to think of it, what exactly _is_ this mess? And are Jin and Victor key players? I can't imagine they were taken just because of me, but it is an odd coincidence. What if this is like one of those movies where the creepy Professor Zamia is stalking me and bumping off the guys I've been with? That can't be true, though; if I were the target, he would have taken me, too. I'm just being egocentric now.

There are five staff members by the door acting as guards. Two of them are without mark, but the other three have a few visible bruises and cuts. I recognize one of them as the guy whose groin met my foot on the patio; I'm impressed he's able to stand up so soon.

I force myself to sit up and look straight at Goddard. "What's really going on here?"

If it's possible, he looks even more nervous when he meets my gaze. I can't tell if he is just too shy to have women looking him in the eye, or if he's guilty of something _really_ bad. He reaches into his pocket for handkerchief and begins smothering his forehead, covering what is supposed to be a decorative cloth with sweat and oil. Goddard looks forty-five years old; I wonder if he's actually just a stressed-out twenty-year-old. I bet if I make a sudden move, he'll pass out.

"Professor Zamia asks that you stay here for the night," Goddard tells us, stumbling through his words as if speaking through a fan. "A ship will be here at six to take you back to the mainland where you can return safely and immediately to your own lives."

"You still have our Pokémon," Geoff pointed out.

"They will be waiting for you on the ship," Goddard claims.

Emily asks, "_All_ of them?"

Goddard nods wildly. "Of course. Every one of them."

"You were so eager to take our legendary Pokémon earlier," Anfernee reminds us. "Why has he now had a change of heart and decided to let us keep them?"

"Professor Zamia does not desire an incident," Goddard tells us. "Although he is interested in studying your legendary Pokémon, he truly wanted a deal that would be beneficial to both parties. If you do not wish to deal, that is your prerogative." Goddard looks particularly sweaty as he adds, "He sends his apologies that my somewhat nervous disposition caused me to jump the gun and attack you on the patio."

_Somewhat_ nervous? There's an understatement. It's tough to tell what is true and what is a lie because his default condition seems to be "flushed and drenched in sweat."

"Say we believe that," Geoff suggests. "Where are the others?"

"They are dangerous criminals," Goddard tells us.

"What?" This one is just too far-fetched even for this crazy island. "You're telling us that a stand-up guy like Jin and a kid like Fell are dangerous criminals? That's ludicrous."

"Of course not," Goddard says. "What I told you about Omar, Remy, Olivia, and Fell was true; they accepted the money in exchange for their legendary Pokémon. Jin, Victor, and Deborah, however, are all members of the infamous Team Rocket."

Bernie seems to think that idea is plausible and not necessarily preposterous. "Whoa. Cool."

"Yes…" Goddard mutters, probably surprised by Bernie's response. "Well, the authorities have been contacted and the criminals are being detained on the island until they arrive in the morning. All of you may rest assured that you are safe."

"That's not good enough," Shawn blurts out. He looks a little ashamed, like he was trying to keep it in but just couldn't hold on long enough. Having come this far, he adds, "How do you know those three are Rockets? And why wait this long to detain them?"

"They are in possession of Pokémon that formerly belonged to Professor Zamia," Goddard tells us. "They were stolen by Team Rocket some years ago. When Zamia narrowed down the list of known legendary Pokémon, he invited the 'owners' to this island for a tournament in order to determine that they were, in fact, the same as the stolen Pokémon."

"Now you're making stuff up," Geoff complains. "Jin can't be a Rocket. That's an organization with lots of money. Jin's reaction when you offered a million dollars was an _honest_ reaction; he looked like a million dollars was a number he'd never see in his life."

"He's a low-ranked Rocket," Goddard explains. "The grunts tend to be underpaid, but they are loyal to the organization because of the promise of money and power."

"How does a grunt get hold of a ho-oh?" Bernie probes.

Goddard wipes the sweat from his head again and takes a drink from a flask. "He might be a new member because of his financial difficulty. When they received an invitation to this tournament, the Team Rocket executives surely felt they needed to send someone Zamia would not recognize, and they selected Jin because of his relatively uncommon approach to training."

It sounds plausible enough, I suppose—certainly a quality lie to placate us if we were all stupid. Goddard's cell phone rings—he gets reception out here?—and he stops talking to us long enough to answer his phone.

"Do you buy that?" Emily asks me.

"Not for a second. There's no way Jin is a member of Team Rocket. I know him better than that. He's an honest, sincere guy; he wouldn't go stealing Pokémon for a living."

"And he actually sounds like a teacher when he talks," Emily agrees. "So what do you want to do?"

Good question.

I'm still a little sore. I crane my neck to the left until I hear it pop; that feels much better. Now I just have to figure out what to do next. Jin isn't here, and the only place I can think of to find Zamia is in the woods, where Jin tried to find him earlier. I think that's the best place to start looking. But how am I going to get out of here without hurting myself? One big guy by the door wouldn't so hard to deal with, but five of them is a problem. There's got to be some way to separate them.

Come to think of it, I'm a fairly attractive woman. Maybe it's time to exert some of that femininity.

Noting the dust I picked up on my clothes and skin from our patio scuffle, I ask, "May I at least take a shower?"

"Of course," Goddard says. He looks to the bathroom just a few feet away.

Crap. That's no good. Uh… "My stuff is all in the bathroom of the room I was staying in. My clothes, toiletries, feminine products…"

Perfect! The mention of "feminine products" always draws the same look from guys, and every one of the big guys joined Goddard in making the same disinterested, discontented expression. Now they're not going to ask any more questions.

"Yes, fine," Goddard says with less enthusiasm. "Um, Mr. Lynwood. Would you please escort the young lady to her room so she may shower and change?" Lynwood looks like an upside-down triangle; he's got enormously broad shoulders and a tiny waist to match his underdeveloped legs. He must be one of those guys who thinks that the upper body is the only part that should get any exercise; heaven forbid big legs make a guy's arms look marginally proportionate to his body. He's also got this stupid smirk on his face that he tries to hide behind that stern, tough-guy bodyguard façade.

"He's not going to try to watch, is he?" I ask.

Goddard shrugs. "I don't think so, but that's up to him."

"Charming," I mutter. If this Lynwood idiot tries anything, Goddard is getting a foot in the groin. We'll see how funny he thinks he is _then_.

"Are you going to be okay going alone with this guy?" Emily asks me quietly.

"I can handle one guy easily enough. Besides, there's something I need in my room. I'll be back before you know it, and then we can blow this joint."

I head for the door and step in front of Lynwood. He is the one I kicked in the nuts earlier; he makes sure to keep a step away from me at all times as he follows me out the door. My room is just down the hall and around the corner, but the trip feels so much longer when I know I'm being followed.

"Sorry I kicked you," I tell Lynwood. He doesn't respond at all. "I obviously didn't hit you too hard if you got back up so quickly."

"I'm stronger than I look."

Oh? I got a response. I guess he's not the tight-lipped, perfectly-trained guard I thought he'd be. He's pretty smart, though; he's still several feet behind me so I can't just throw out my leg and hit him again. He wants to make it difficult for me. My best chance might be to get him to try to grab me; that will close the distance and allow me to kick him pretty much anywhere.

"You look plenty strong already," I say. I turn my upper body so I can see him clearly and my torso is in profile, and I run my eyes up and down his body in an obvious way. "Under different circumstances, I might even say you're quite the stud. It's too bad neither of us trusts the other right now." I add a little hair twirl as I turn around and continue down the hall.

"Stop flirting. I'm not going for it."

Yeah, right. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"I'm gay."

My brain shuts down for a second. I stop moving and turn to check Lynwood out again. There's nothing I've seen in his mannerisms that suggest he could be gay. Is he serious, or is it some attempt to throw me off _my_ guard?

"Really?" I quickly regain my bearings; I put on a half smile and hum slightly. "That's a shame." That was intended to call his bluff, but he doesn't react at all like I thought he might. I guess he really _is_ gay. And why shouldn't he be? It makes my job of getting him to drop his guard tougher. You never see _that_ in the movies.

I can probably take Lynwood down now that he's separated from the other guys. I do still want to get to my room, though, and I'd rather not leave him as an unconscious hulk in the hallway, so I might as well finish the trip before trying to knock him out. When I get to my room, I actually consider taking a shower for a second; I am probably a mess from being knocked to the ground on that patio. But not only would that waste time, I'm just going to get sweaty again when I start beating up all these guards.

Just in case Lynwood really was lying, I step into my room to get changed and ask him to wait in the TV room. He actually obliges, which surprises me quite a bit; I thought he'd insist that he has to stay close by to make sure that I don't try to grab a weapon or something. I do grab a weapon, but it's not something bulky that I have to carry around—a pair of padded, leather gloves. Otherwise, I'm taking this T-shirt off and putting on that sleeveless leather jacket I wear when I spar; it's black, which matches my shorts and my current mood.

"You really don't seem like such a bad guy," I call to Lynwood in the other room. "How'd you end up with a career in cronyism?"

"It started as an opportunity to cook for Professor Zamia," he calls back. "Private cooks for rich guys get paid all kinds of money. I had hoped to put together enough money to open my own restaurant back in Plumbum City. I only got recruited for guard duty because I'm big. I wouldn't do it, but Zamia offered a bonus for keeping you guys in line."

Wow. He's more talkative than I expected. I slow down in my eagerness to arm myself. I wonder if I really have to hurt Lynwood; he seems like a real sweet guy. I want to try asking him directly, but just in case he's really tough and loyal to Zamia, I put on the white cotton robe from the bathroom and unzip my jacket until I show the tiniest amount of cleavage. Then I go stand in the doorway, trying to look helpless.

"Is there any chance you could just tell me where our Pokémon are and let us go find our friends?"

He looks at me with a look of sympathy. "I can't. Somehow or another, Zamia always knows everything that's happening on this island."

"Like how?" I ask. My eyes dart to every corner and crevice of the room. "Does he have cameras set up in all the rooms?"

"He doesn't need them. I think he's psychic. He can always tell who's thinking of doing something illegal on the island, or who tries to steal stuff. I think he's even killed a few of the staff members who did steal from him; none of them ever made it to the mainland before they were killed by wild sea Pokémon."

"That's horrible." Then a thought strikes me. "If he thinks Jin and Victor are members of Team Rocket, he'll kill them, too!"

"Probably," Lynwood agrees.

"But they're _not_ Rockets! I'm sure of it! No low-level grunt could ever get the same relationship and affection with an organization Pokémon like Jin has with Musashi. I have to do something to help before Zamia does anything." I step into the room and plead with Lynwood. "You have to tell me where I can find my Pokémon. I really need to save my friends."

Lynwood looks me in the eye for a moment. I wonder if he knows that I could just as easily beat the information out of him. But I really don't want to hurt him if I can avoid it.

"Goddard locked away the Pokéballs," he says with a sigh. "He's a new weasel to Zamia's crew, but he's still a weasel. He probably put them all somewhere he can keep an eye on them. I'd start with that briefcase he carries around."

"The briefcase?" I can't remember; did he have one with him before? He wasn't holding it just a moment ago… but he did have one on the patio! I thought it was the money he promised each of us, but it was probably empty from the get-go. Of course we wouldn't think to look there because we don't really care about the money anymore.

I walk up to Lynwood with my arms by my side, a sign of a friendly approach. I gently put one hand on his chest and then get on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you. You really are a sweet guy." I step past him and head for the door.

"One more thing to think about," he says to stop me. "Goddard does have his own Pokémon. If you do anything suspicious, like showing up there without me, he might panic." Then he chuckles. "Scratch that; he _will_ panic."

"So come with me," I suggest. "We'll make it look like you're still keeping an eye on me like you're supposed to."

"If I do that, I also have to try to catch you when you go nuts," he says. It's an situation, but he tells me that although he doesn't approve of killing dissenters, this is still the best-paying job around until he can earn the money for his restaurant. "The only way for me not to get involved is for you to knock me out now."

I'm shocked. "Are you sure?"

He says he is. If he's passed out in this room, it won't look like he helped me. "Just, please don't hit me in the groin again."

"Okay." I slip off the robe and zip my jacket back up, then Lynwood watches me pull on those leather gloves. If I swing hard enough, the padding should protect my knuckles but still deliver enough force to knock Lynwood out without breaking the skin. I lightly stroke his cheek and let him know, "I'm sorry about this." Then I immediately haul off and plow my fist into his face while he's still distracted and thinking about my touch. A really effective punch needs a good follow-through, so I turn my body in order to put my back into the punch. Even a guy Lynwood's size falls straight backward on the couch like a crash test dummy. That will probably leave a mark, but at least it didn't bruise my knuckles.

Now I should get going before Goddard starts to expect me back.

I creep quickly and quietly through the hall back to Bernie's room, where they decided to confine us all night. I can't hear much from out here, and I'm really not sure of the best way to do this. There are still four big guys in there ready to fight back if I burst in there. Maybe some of them are like Lynwood and don't want to fight, but if I can't get them alone to talk, I'll never be able to figure out if that's true or for whom. Maybe the best course of action is to burst in there, knock one out quickly, then loudly threaten the other guys if they don't give up on the spot. If they don't, maybe I'll get lucky and they won't be terribly well trained fighters. Or maybe Emily or Anfernee will jump in and help; even a distraction should do it.

Until Goddard summons a Pokémon. What does he have? I should have asked… unless Lynwood doesn't know, in which case, it makes no difference. He probably would have told me already if he knew. It could be something harmless like a clefairy or something challenging like a snorlax. I'm not sure how I'd be able to take one of those on without Apollo or Balboa. I guess I'll just have to deal with that problem when I get there.

I tap the doorknob lightly enough to figure out it's locked without making too much noise. I guess there's no easy way to get in there. Noisy and destructive is the best option that comes to mind. But to get the door open, I have to knock. Not that light rapping that sounds like a raven trying to break in, but a big pounding that sounds like someone Lynwood's size. Then I duck under the peephole to avoid being seen.

As soon as the door cracks open, I stand up and plant my heel into the door. The heavy door slams into the face of the guy who opened it, thumping loudly and breaking his nose. The guards are all still standing by the door; one guy answered it, two guys are standing together a few feet away, and the fourth is on the other side of the end table. I run into the room and push right past Broken Nose so I can dropkick one of the two guys; once he's on the floor, I quickly lift my right leg high in the air and slam it back down on his stomach. I flip back to my feet and sweep the next guy's left leg by kicking him in the back of the knee; his knee buckles under his weight but he doesn't fall, so I also thrust my left palm into his face and knock him to the ground. Just for good measure, I turn, take a big step with my left leg off the back of the couch, and push myself into the air. As I fall toward the fourth guy, I swing my right leg around and nail him where the shoulder meets the neck. I didn't mean to hit him there, but at least he's unconscious and I won't have to hit him again.

Everyone else looks pretty startled by my sudden appearance. For the moment, I'm just trying to keep my eyes on Goddard and his guards.

"I really don't want to hit any of you again, so if you don't get paid enough for this, stay down!" All three guys who were stunned but not knocked out by my assaults dropped straight back to the floor and played dead, although two of them kept their hands on their bleeding noses. I'm a little surprised that worked.

Goddard looks completely flustered, and I don't really blame him. I'm sure this scenario was not what he pictured when I mentioned taking a shower. "What is the meaning of this?" he stammers. "You are acting illogically!"

"All I want is our Pokémon," I warn him. "Give them back and nothing will happen to you."

"I cannot do that!" he screams like a little kid. "Zamia will kill me! He will kill all of you!"

"No, he won't," I assure him. "All I want to do is find out what Zamia's up to and what he's doing to Jin and Victor. If he tries to kill me, he will find it exceedingly difficult. I kick, and I bite."

Goddard is clenching his fists and running in place; he's either throwing a tantrum or he's having a seizure. "I've had enough of this!" He pulls out a white Premium Ball and opens it on the spot. The energy forms a seven-foot-tall, three-hundred-pound abomasnow—a large mammal covered in bushy, white fur. They look like yeti, and in fact the name comes from a contraction of the term "abominable snowman." This is so _not_ something I'm looking forward to.

But why worry about that? I know I'm going to have to take it down, anyway, so I figure I should start right away. Abomasnows have short tempers, and they can really throw their weight around when they get upset. I should hit it before it has time to orient itself to the room.

Immediately I lunge forward and plant my fist into the abomasnow's gut—perhaps the human equivalent of a Mach Punch. I'm sure it hurt him because the abomasnow lifts his arm in the air and swings it down heavily with a Hammer Arm motion. He's pretty slow, though, so I sidestep it and kick him in the side three times, each time with a little more force. When I see the Pokémon's clawed feet grip the floor so hard it breaks into the floorboards, I push away and acrobatically flip over a couch to avoid its Wood Hammer attack; thanks to its missing me, it stumbles and hits the floor.

Luckily, during all this hubbub, all the other trainers moved to the side of the room and into the bathroom for cover, and even the guards scrambled out of the room. Knowing that everyone else is relatively out of the way, I decide this is the perfect opportunity to end this battle and show Goddard that he's not messing with just _any_ trainer.

When I first started training Pokémon, I learned that there are people who can use moves just like Pokémon can. It takes a lot work to focus in exactly the right way to use such a move without hurting yourself, but anyone with the aptitude and the patience to learn about hand seals can do it. Hand seals are a way of manipulating a person's aura energy through unconscious means. Instead of having to concentrate on the exact amount of energy in the exact desired locations, a lot of people are taught to associate moves with different hand seals. Because of the sheer repetition, the association makes the flow of energy pretty automatic when certain hand seals are formed.

I place my hands together with my fingers interlaced except my two pointer fingers straight up: the tiger seal. Instantly, my body temperature spiked and all that heat rushed to my fist. I push off the couch one more time, and as I reach the apex of my jump, my gloved hand bursts into flame. I fall straight down on top of the abomasnow and pound my knuckles into its upper back right near the neck. The flame travels from my fist into the abomasnow's body; its specific biology makes it easy for fire energy to spread through the body of an ice- or grass-type Pokémon, and an abomasnow is both. I can tell by its writhing on the floor that it is _not_ thrilled to have fought with me.

Goddard recalls his Pokémon and has another little fit. He's yammering some rapid-fire gibberish I can't make out, but he's still guarding that briefcase. Lynwood suggested that's where our Pokémon are, so I reach for it. When Goddard yanks it away from me, he leaves his body wide open—just how I like it. I basically push him as hard as I can with my full leg strength, and he's unconscious before he bounces off the wall.

"Stupid," I spit at him. I grab the briefcase and try to open it.

"What the hell was all that?" Bernie asks me now that the ruckus has died.

"It seemed like the easiest way to free us from a guarded room," I reply. Sunday makes a snide comment about how brash and impulsive I am and how it probably stems from low self-esteem. I guess she's not joining the Lisa Fan Club that Geoff looks like he's ready to start after he tells me that ninja women are hot.

"I can't get this open," I say and offer the briefcase to Shawn. "I think our Pokémon are in there." Shawn obligingly works the lock with a lot more precision than I did. It doesn't take long for him to jimmy it open. Just as Lynwood suggested, it is full of Pokéballs. Everyone eagerly reaches in to retrieve their Pokémon.

"Where's Ilya?" Jess wonders aloud. She's right; our legendary Pokémon aren't in the briefcase. Either Goddard lied to us about getting them back, or they really are being kept somewhere else. Maybe Mayhan took them for research purposes before the ship comes.

"That settles it," I decide. "I'm going to find out what is really happening on this island, where Jin and Victor are, and I'm getting Seraph back in the process."

"You've really got a thing for Jin," Sunday notes.

"Yes," I say with a loud sigh. "I _like_ the guy. Okay? Now, are any of you going to help, or are you just going to sit here and wait patiently to see if your legendary Pokémon magically appear with the ship?"

The answer surprises me.

* * *

_I forgot to mention last time that I'm pretty much done with the long science-related monologues. Most of the remainder is action._

_I appreciate the long review by arenothuman; it was thoughtful and suggests an intelligent critic for this science fiction piece. That said, I reserve the right to rebut/reply to a few comments because this is my show._  
_First of all, I do not take Farla's criticism to heart. I, too, have seen that she repeats herself in other reviews, and she said a lot of things about the story that were unfounded criticisms. And as a bonus, she was wrong about reader-suggested characters: I never planned to mention heterochromia in any of my characters before Happy2BMe submitted a character with two differently-colored eyes, and that came up as a plot point during the previous chapter. Thanks, Haps._  
_The dissociation between a writer and his characters is a personal problem. Correspondence bias happens, but people who decide to stop reading because the antagonist expresses an opinion they didn't agree with and they assume the writer holds the same opinion are too "delicate" and "fragile" to read anything rated higher than K+, anyway. If any of you honestly worry about my personal opinions, you may ask me; otherwise, assume it is the opinion held by my fictional characters._  
_Countering your opinion of Zamia is virtually impossible, and so I will simply remind you of some key features about his belief systems that contribute to your inability to understand him. His research has shown him that pain, although present in the skin via nociceptors, is primarily psychological; anyone with proper training will not feel pain. That extends to his vivsection research; the fact that a subject is in pain during vivisection is natural, but he realizes based on ensuing pain that intelligence and psychological understanding is necessary to nullify the pain. (Intelligence is linked to a lot of characteristics beyond caution, including adaptability, safety, and open-mindedness.) A better description of Zamia's approach is to say he's spent so long with this line of research and the belief that pain is a fantasy that he now blurs the line between statistical significance and practical significance. A steady-minded scientist wouldn't test an unproven virus on himself, either, yet he was so ambitious he eschewed the risks in exchange for the potential benefits. As far as taking a cotton swab or a single tissue sample: They run out with extensive testing. A subject is a constant source of DNA, and Zamia's research requires plenty of samples. And contrary to _The Incredible Hulk_, blood cannot be synthesized and replicated or else donor banks would never run out._  
_You can attribute these misunderstandings to whomever makes you happy._

_Moving on to happier things... Either the next chapter or the one after that will have room for other characters to narrate. Because I want to keep you all interested and some of the characters came from you, anyway, I am willing to offer any among you the chance to contribute to the writing of the story. If you are interested, send me a message to tell me whose voice you want to express. I will let you know the bare bones of the events that need to be covered, and you will be free to add whatever thoughts or details you think are appropriate. We can discuss more if anyone is actually interested in this activity.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	19. A Round of Identity

**A Round of Identity**

Zamia doesn't seem interested in answering my questions. He's more concerned with whatever's happening at the mansion. I'm sure Lisa and the others are raising some kind of stink in response to the treatment we've gotten in the past few hours. I wonder if she misses me at all.

"No," I accidentally say out loud. It was actually a response to my mind wandering from the current situation, but I'm able to turn it into disapproval for Zamia's brushing me off. "I want to know right now if this is Omar!" I point to the specimen chamber bearing the snake man with the huge arms. Now knowing Zamia's propensity for concocting viral cocktails of Pokémon DNA, I'm certain he formulated such viruses from Omar's legendary rayquaza and tested it on Omar himself.

Zamia sighs. He looks to Victor and tells him, "Make sure Fechtner is at the mansion where he's supposed to be. And tell Hildenbrand to keep an eye on the camp." Victor shoots me a dirty look, then he hurries away into the main dome. Zamia turns back to me with a look on his ever-worsening visage that says he believes he's justified in this case. I think I understand his typical reasoning for the most part, which is why a part of me thinks Omar must have done something at least as bad as being from Team Rocket.

"They wanted to kill me," Zamia explains vaguely. "All I did was detain them and take their Pokémon."

"And then you injected them with one of your legendary cocktails."

His expression softens the same way it did when he was discussing the science of his research earlier. "Well, I had to know if any of their Pokémon would create a more effective mutation virus. I also wanted to test the accelerant I devised. At least that was successful; notice how thoroughly they transformed after only ten hours?"

So he used their Pokémon instead of Giratina as a control; he wanted to know if his own transformation was due to incorporating _any_ Pokémon DNA, or if it was the result of Giratina's DNA specifically. I think it's obvious that probability favors the former. And he honestly thinks it's okay just because he thinks they wanted to kill him?

"You said 'wanted,'" I point out. "If they never actually _tried_ to kill you, then how to you justify this treatment?"

"Symptomatic treatment is a waste of time. Prophylactic* treatment is the most effective way to make sure they do not succeed. After all, Giratina is not infallible, and I am most certainly not a god. I still have my weaknesses."

"So you pulled a _Minority Report_ on them? Because of your psychic, astral projection thing?"

"Of course. Now if you will excuse me, I need to attend to these matters before they get worse. You are free to discuss things with the salesman if you wish. I trust in your scientific mind you will remember that he is only giving you his side of the story, however, and he may try to dress it up to make me out as the bad guy."

_Gee, why would he do that?_

Zamia doesn't just leave me in the room, though. He may claim to trust me by giving me a pair of decent weapons and two of my Pokémon, but he stops to whisper something to Elden, the human machamp, before he leaves. I'm sure he told him something to the effect of keeping an eye on me and the others. Zamia gives me one last look before he leaves the room. Elden's expression is one of cautious disgust… I think. It's tough to be sure what he's thinking.

"Can you still talk?" I ask Omar from outside the tube. I have no idea if he can hear me or how badly the glass distorts my voice.

"He probably can't hear you," Deborah tells me. Is she psychic? "All I could hear inside that chamber was muffled voices. I could tell who was talking, but I couldn't tell what they were saying." Oh. _That's_ how she knew what I was thinking.

"Well, then we'll just open these doors," I conclude. I can see the seam on the glass door, but there is no handle. There must be a mechanism on one of those machines connected to these chambers, but I'm a little nervous about trying that method. I need an engineer to teach me how the machinery works or else I might end up killing Omar et al. instead of letting them out. "Any chance you know how to open these doors?" I ask Elden.

He shakes his head and takes a step forward before folded all four arms over his chest again. He clearly doesn't want me to open any of these doors, but he also seems like an emotionally guarded guy; he's trying not to look angry with me. I wonder what he'll do when I bust these chambers open.

But how should I do it? Omar looks pretty strong in there, especially if he's got some rayquaza DNA in him, but it seems pretty clear he couldn't open it, and I am definitely willing to assume he tried; there are smears and fingerprints all over the glass tube. If his legendary Pokémon DNA can't make him strong enough even to crack the glass, what makes me think a little guy like I can knock down the door? Even with a round of chakra through my arms, I can't imagine being that strong. A slaking was almost too much for me physically.

Oh, yeah. I wonder if "Van" is still hanging around. The second I cross Zamia, Van will probably be more than happy to kill me. I'll have to keep an eye out for him.

Now, about this door… The seams are hardly noticeable, and I can barely even slide my fingernails in there. Maybe Musashi can find a way to wedge the tube open a little.

"Why don't you try this?" Deborah's standing right by the control panel that I was afraid to touch. If I had taken a closer look earlier, I might have noticed that many of the controls are labeled. In particular, she's pointing at the communication controls that include labels matching the numbers on each of the tubes.

"I guess that's worth a try," I say. She presses a button and suddenly I can hear Omar's breathing. I know it's his because it sounds deep and raspy, and his is the only body that could produce such a sound. "Omar?"

He looks to his left where the speaker is located, then he turns back to look at me. "Jin." His voice sounds like Michael Clarke Duncan if he were a dragon. "Are you one of Zamia's flunkies?"

"No," I reply, though I have to admit I'd probably jump to the same conclusion if I were seeing things from Omar's perspective. "He's trying to recruit me. Why did he do this to you?"

"He thinks we wanted to kill him. What do you mean, 'recruit' you? He _wants_ you to be one of his flunkies?"

"I guess so. He thinks I'd make a good scientist. Why would he think you wanted to kill him?"

"Are you sure he only wants you as a scientist? He might do to you what he does to himself. You want to merge with a legendary Pokémon?"

"Why would he single out you four to test the permutations of his virus?"

Deborah clears her throat loudly to make Omar and me stop talking. "Is it _easier_ for you guys to have separate conversations simultaneously? Why don't we start with Omar's story since his, I'm sure, sounds more interesting?" Yeah, "interesting" and probably right up her alley.

"Why should I trust him?" Omar asks. "He could be working for Zamia."

I calmly point out, "Who already knows what you were planning. What difference does it make if I _am_ working with him?"

I think he gets my point. He takes a moment to breathe heavily and consider his situation, I guess, but he eventually says, "I was planning to steal his identity."

"You were going to do what?" That honestly didn't make sense to me. What was he saying?

"I figured out a way to make a name for myself and become rich at the same time. All I had to do was steal Zamia's identity and establish myself as him." He goes on to say he's read every article, press release, and email Zamia has ever written. Add to that the fact that no one has ever seen Zamia and the one photo that's online is a fake. "I could easily _become_ Zamia, and his resources would be mine."

"Is that what this is about?" Deborah asks. "You want his money?"

You _want his Pokémon,_ I think to myself, but I don't say it out loud.

"His resources are being wasted," Omar insists. "He's studying the minute details of Pokémon biology that aren't important. No one will ever get to live as long as a legendary Pokémon or be completely resistant to disease without losing his humanity."

That's why Omar wants to steal Zamia's identity? He thinks Zamia is squandering his money and connections?

"Cinnabar Island is constantly destroyed by the active volcano on the island, and the ash from that island constantly disrupts human and Pokémon life in Pallet Town and Fuschia City. It kills plants and animals and disrupts all forms of aviation and marine transportation. There is technology being developed right now that can halt volcanic eruption and save hundreds of lives each year."

Okay. I admit that's a good cause, but who's to say that's more important than furthering our knowledge of nature?

"Dozens of people develop cancer associated with the dragonic gasses in Blackthorn City, all because everyone loves to go searching for dratini, but no one wants to spend the money on reducing pollutants and purifying the air."

I'm starting to see his point. There are lots of people who could be saved, but there are still grants for that kind of research and implementation. He doesn't need to steal someone's identity for that.

"And Pyrite Town is basically a slum. The poverty level is through the roof, the police are under-funded leading to high crime rates, and they have no tourism revenue ever since the mine closed. They've got nothing going for them there except a couple of criminal organizations setting up base there."

"These are all good causes," I admit, "and I can understand needing money to implement any kinds of plans or technology, but why not get a loan for that kind of thing? You've got the connections through your salesmanship to get some kind of funding."

"No one wants to fund people's health," Omar tells me. "There's no profit there. There could be eventual profit in Pyrite Town or Cinnabar Island, but considering how expensive it will be to implement the economic stimulus and the technology necessary to change the islands, returns might not be seen for a decade or more, and no one wants to gamble away that much money on a plan that might not even work. That's why I need to get in control of a large funding source of my own, and Zamia's resources are the easiest target."

Deborah scoffs. "Or _were_ before you realized you were working with Dr. Frankenstein."

"Whoever he is," Omar says, "he's more of a monster than I am."

Hearing the despair in Omar's voice as he describes the situation of people I've never met, I understand why he feels so strongly about this. Too often, people find themselves focusing on their personal day-to-day lives, never giving another thought to anyone else, let alone people who live in other regions. Omar spent his days as a traveling salesman and got to see it all. He's been everywhere and met all kinds of people with all kinds of problems that can't just be ignored.

"How long have you been planning this? It's not exactly easy to get an invitation to Zamia's island. He hasn't held a tournament like this in decades."

"Since I captured Bahamut at the Sky Pillar in the Hoenn region. I already told you that I know everything about Zamia, including which legendary Pokémon species he does not possess."

"Really? He doesn't have them all already?"

Omar shakes his dragon-like head. "Everyone invited here possesses a legendary species that Zamia has heretofore not owned to study directly. Except you; he used to have a ho-oh ten years ago, but he lost it."

Yeah, I already know about that.

Everything Omar says sounds reasonable, but still…

"I can understand convincing your wife to come with you, and even her partner, but how'd you get Fell to go with this wicked plan?"

"Fell is one of those poor kids," Omar says. "He works in a pawn shop. He doesn't have the money for college. But he's a tough kid and I thought we could use his help." I can tell from his voice that he feels responsible for getting Fell into this mess… and he is. But there's no real point dwelling on that now. All four of them are now the product of Zamia's rather obscured ethical belief system. And the fact remains that I can't be part of this kind of research.

I look to Deborah. "Do you know how to open these cages?"

She shakes her head. "My expertise is battling, espionage, and seduction." Like I couldn't figure that much out on my own.

I pull my Safari Ball from my pocket and open it. In an instant, Musashi appears in front of me. He looks ready to go, and his wings look sharp. If Omar's brute strength isn't enough to break this glass, then we'll need something more focused.

"Use Steel Wing on that tube," I tell him. He recognizes the phrase Steel Wing and begins to send his chakra through his wings, hardening them. When they begin fluttering the way they do, his wings are similar in effect to a chainsaw, buzzing loudly and with great power behind them. He dashes toward the tube, ready to try his wings for ripping a hole in the glass. Elden over there reacts, but I think I'm ready for him. I whip out my Pokéball and call Sundance to take him on.

But my divided attention prevents me from realizing that Musashi's assault was thwarted by something else. Electromagnetic energy accumulated into the form of a scizor, and one that looks especially eager to fight with Musashi.

"I hope you didn't forget about me," Victor calls from the doorway. He looks especially smug, and if he's as powerful as Zamia suggested, then he'll be especially tough to defeat. He probably knew the whole time that I wouldn't go along with Zamia's line of research.

"I didn't forget," I say. I can't hold back the grin that starts to pull at my cheeks. "I've been looking forward to this."

* * *

_*For reference, the word "prophylactic" means "preventative"; it doesn't necessarily apply to sex._

_I know it's short a short chapter, but I've also noticed that I write a little better if I don't worry about my word count and I focus instead on the thesis of each chapter._

_I'm done with the science stuff and the plot twists until the very end of the story. The rest of it is pretty much action. I've got a volunteer to describe what will happen in the mansion and someone to describe what happens in the lab. Does anyone want the opportunity to describe what's going to happen in the forest camp?_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	20. A Round of Victor

**A Round of Victor**

This is not going to be as exciting as Jin thinks, but it will be a lot of fun. His scyther is not as strong as Zantetsu, but he's not much faster, either. The scyther tries to dash behind Zantetsu and strike his wings to limit his mobility, but Zantetsu turns just enough to make the scyther miss and retaliates with a Metal Claw. And I don't even have to say anything.

What the hell is this? Are you kidding me? Jin's joining the fight?

Just after his scyther missed, Jin ran in for a strike against Zantetsu. Luckily, Zantetsu's reflexes are determined by mine, so he dodges those short swords anyway, but now it's a two-on-one fight. I know Zantetsu can handle it, especially with me as his trainer, but I'll feel better if I even the odds a little. I call out Liberty and signal for him to go beat the crap out of Jin directly. We'll see what kind of fighter he is when he has to face someone whose skin is even tougher than his swords.

Liberty's resisting me, though. He can see that jolteon over there fighting with Elden. Liberty wants to get a piece of the first creature that even knocked him out before the mutant machamp can kill it.

"Yeah, fine," I say. I can sense Liberty's excitement as he hovers off to battle the jolteon. He's going to make it tougher for me, but I'm certainly capable of splitting my attention three ways… because I still have one other Pokémon with me, and it doesn't matter what the odds are against him.

"Come on out, Palidor."

Little out there brings with the sheer power of a fully grown lugia, and no lugia is feared more than one controlled by my power. I guess Dad is fortunate that he built this dome to be so large. Palidor takes up more space than everyone else in this room put together. He'll probably break some things when he starts flying around. Oh well; such is life.

Jin doesn't look happy to see Palidor, which is really too bad because I know Palidor is thrilled at the opportunity of battling some of Jin's Pokémon. It's almost a shame he doesn't have that ho-oh. That would make a pretty fun battle. But Palidor versus a scyther and a human who thinks he's as strong as a Pokémon can also be fun.

"Musashi! Agility!" Jin is trying to make his scyther faster than a lugia? How ludicrous. Even if that bug manages to move faster than Palidor, where's he going to go in this room that Palidor can't track him? And judging from Jin's hands, he wasn't listening to anything Dad told him about the free use of aura energy. If I recall correctly, he's using the "ram" seal. I can see the flow of aura in his body flowing to his legs. No doubt to make up for that limp in his leg.

Hmm… I almost forgot that he limps. Maybe that's a good place to strike.

I start strong with a Whirlwind. With the power in those wings, it's like hurricane-force winds shoving into everything. It aptly does what I wanted—pushing Jin and Musashi across the room—but the crosswind also shoves me backward into the examination table. Now my back hurts from where I nearly bent in half over the table. Maybe I didn't think that one all the way through. At least Jin and his scyther look just as stressed, so it wasn't a total loss.

Maybe I should follow up with Hydro Pump and flood the room. Nah. Dad would hate that. He says the water attacks ruin the equipment. Maybe just a Psychic attack.

Rats! I guess I hadn't counted on that jolteon's speed being such an issue in here. And as a jolteon, he keeps drawing electrical energy away from the machines. Every time he appears to be running low on power, he just takes more and uses it against me. Elden has got to stop throwing that jolteon toward the machines. Gyro Ball provides a good defense, with the rapid spinning helping to disperse the electrical energy before it can do too much damage, but I can't seem to hit him because that jolteon is too fast. How does this jolteon know what to do all the time? It's just an electric fox; its intelligence is severely limited!

The steel exoskeleton protected me from any real damage during that Whirlwind. That means I can get the drop on that scyther with an Iron Head attack. One of those to the chest ought to inflict a good bit of damage. Damn it! He's too fast; he whips himself up and avoids the headbutt, leaving me to smack the wall. Let's see him get away from… He just swung his blade in a single swipe at almost invisible speeds. Was that a False Swipe? Why would he waste my time with that? It didn't hurt with an exoskeleton like mine.

Wait! What's that stance he's doing? A quick thrust to the shoulder, another to the groin, and a third to the face… I feel like I've been hit by a wrecking ball, and all because a scyther hit me with a Brick Break attack. Maybe I should just sit here for a minute.

There's Jin… still climbing to his feet after slamming into the floor. It looks like the aura energy drained from his leg already; he's favoring it even more than usual. That should make him an easy target. Is it enough to kill him with a Psychic, or should I eat him? That would be nice and painful, but those swords would wreak havoc on Palidor's throat. It's decided; with an open mouth and aura energy focused into my throat, Palidor expels a powerful wind tunnel straight at him. An Aeroblast ought to knock him down for good.

"What the hell?" What is that blue thing? It suddenly zipped in front of Jin and put up a Light Screen. Now the Aeroblast just splits when it hits the blue thing and smacks the wall in two places.

Now a green thing seems to fly into the air by expelling aura energy from its feet, then it grips onto Palidor's back and Crunches onto his neck. It's not all that damaging, but it's enough to stun my lugia and cause him stumble. He has to whip his neck around quickly to fling the green thing off, yet the green thing simply flips in the air and lands on its feet with relative ease. It looks like a man-dragon of some sort. And so does that blue thing that protected Jin, although this man-dragon is much smaller.

"It can't be…"

Deborah is standing by the containment units with her hands just inches away from the switch that opens each of the units. She's got a smug look on her face, probably something she learned from Team Rocket, and says, "I found it." She let those four trainers who wanted to kill my dad out of their cells and into the lab. They may not be as powerful as the legendary Pokémon they somewhat resemble, but they still gained a bit of power during the transfusion. And there are four of them, which will make this more difficult.

But then again, I do enjoy a challenge, and there's no way four human freaks can measure up to the power of a lugia.

Now it's time for Hydro Pump, no matter what Dad says. I lock on to Rayquaza-Omar and let him have it. The force of moisture being released from my belly is powerful enough to force even a body as big as his off its feet and pin him to the wall. I follow up by channeling my aura into dragon energy and plowing straight into him with a Dragon Rush. The action jams my neck slightly when I hit Omar and he hits the wall, but that should have killed him.

Ow! Zapdos-Remy actually figured out how to expel that electricity in her body without shocking herself? She's on Palidor's back, but Zantetsu can see her just fine. Those wings of hers aren't big enough for her to fly for extended periods, but she can still make her way into the air, it seems. All she had to do was land on my back and let the natural flow of electrical pressure Discharge the electricity into my flying-type body. The best way to rid myself of that pest is to release the nitrogen gas my body compresses and freeze the room. The temperature in my body drops significantly as soon as I start to release the gas, and that should be enough to hurt Remy and get her off my back.

Oh, great. Now that jolteon has a partner. The Entei-Olivia wants to help him out, and her fire aura is a problem for me. She's not very good at it, but that Fire Spin she's starting can really melt my circuits. I'm a little bit lucky that she's still mostly human, but Liberty is strong enough to resist the fire when he starts spinning. And let's see how Olivia can handle a Flash Cannon; she's not nearly as fast as that jolteon. One good blast knocks her on her quadruped ass. And because the jolteon had to avoid the beam, he set himself up to be struck by a double Cross Chop from Elden. This fight is almost over.

That scyther is still putting up a fight, but I'm stronger. I may not be able to hit him with every attempt, but he hardly does any damage when he hits me. And I'm starting to figure out his attack patterns—it helps that I can see him from multiple angles. He starts fluttering his wings and does an Aerial Ace; that means an Air Slash is next. I just have to time it…

Got him! I caught one of his blades in my claw! Now he can't go anywhere. It's reminiscent of the tournament when Olivia's dragonite caught this scyther's arm and threatened him with a Hyper Beam. But I don't want to risk such a high-power move in such closed quarters. Instead, I'm going to make this scyther look a little more like his trainer with a Slash attack.

The Ice Beam hit Remy head-on. She doesn't freeze, though; she's too close to Olivia's Fire Spin for that to happen. But she's not going to be able to avoid an Aeroblast if she can't move any faster more than a little slow twitching.

Geez! Now that annoying little Latios-Fell is trying to sneak around behind me with Dragon's Rage. How'd he figure out how to use his aura energy so quickly? It's good he's not any stronger yet or his move might be upgraded to a Dragon Pulse, but at least I can see him coming in time to use Light Screen to deflect his attack straight over to his half-rayquaza friend, just in case he's not already dead. A quick change of energy to smack Fell with an Iron Tail gets him out of my way. Now Olivia is open for an Aeroblast to put her down for good.

What everyone here doesn't seem to realize is that I can take complete control of my Pokémon when they battle, but I still have control over myself. That means everything one of them senses, I can sense as if it happened to me. Whatever they see, I see; the same goes the other way. As long as one of us can see the opponent's moves, we will all know how to avoid them. I don't care how good Jin's training was; he can't face the unbridled might of a lugia with four sets of eyes. As a trainer, I am unstoppable.

"Hey, Pokéboy!" I turn my human body to see Jin standing by the doorway. He's still got blood drenching his shirt, but he's acting like it's no big deal. He doesn't even have his swords drawn. He's just holding a purple Master Ball in his hand. Did he find that ho-oh? That won't do much to tip the battle in his favor.

"How far along do you think Zamia's research was when he created you?"

I don't get it. "What does that mean?"

"You have the DNA of three legendary Pokémon inside you," Jin reminds me. "You have since birth. So tell me… Are you more human or Pokémon?"

I grit my teeth and growl at him. This is no time for stupid philosophical quandaries! Doesn't he realize his life is at stake here?

"I am both!" I cry out.

"We'll find out," he mutters. Then he hurls the Master Ball straight at me. Why? It doesn't matter where the ball opens for it to release the Pokémon inside. I could understand throwing the ball if he's standing on top of a platform and he wants to summon his ho-oh across the field, but why throw it when it's only going to open twelve yards away? The Master Ball lands near my feet and just sits there for a second before it finally opens.

And suddenly my entire body feels like it's being sucked through a vacuum. Thousands of particles in my legs at a time disappear beneath me as they are drawn electromagnetically toward the low-pressure system within the Master Ball. It doesn't hurt, exactly; it feels like standing next to an open airplane door and sticking my body through one limb at a time.

Then everything goes red.

I can't fall for this. I want my freedom! I try to rebel and start channeling my aura in every way I can think of to short circuit the Master Ball and alter the air pressure, but it exhausts me greatly, and the Master Ball seems to push back even harder than I can.

And all of a sudden, I can't muster any more aura energy. I hear a "click" that signifies the locking mechanism outside the ball, and I'm stuck here, powerless to fight back anymore. It's not an unpleasant feeling, though. I actually feel pretty relaxed, and I think the energy is actually relieving some of my previous pain.

Unfortunately, the last thing I can remember is that look of satisfaction on Jin's face. Oh, how I'd love just _one more chance_ to smack it off of him. Just wait…

* * *

_How many of you saw that coming?_

_This was both a lot of fun and the most difficult chapter yet. Have you ever tried to write a first-person view of someone who takes four simultaneous perspectives?_  
_In my mind, this scene is chaotic and last maybe six minutes. But if you think it's too short, give it the anime treatment: Add a lot of pauses, staring at each other, repeating the same battle strategies, and rearrange the paragraphs to have only one battle happen at a time (I guess everyone else just stands back and watches)._

_Unless I'm mistaken, there are three chapters left in this story. My plan for the moment is to conclude the story from Jin's perspective and maybe add some one-shots later that fill in the little gaps from everyone else's perspectives. Anyone vehemently opposed to that idea?_

_Credits:  
__Emily....sunshine5991  
Anfernee....watts63  
Lady Sunday....Happy2BMe  
Fell....Happy2BMe  
Shawn....Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess....Imagination Domination  
Everyone else....YamiRuss_


	21. A Round of Cleanup

_The third paragraph is dedicated to Imagination Domination.I didn't even think about it before she asked the question about Victor's Pokémon._

* * *

**A Round of Cleanup**

I thought there was only the vaguest, outside chance that would work. I just figured from what Zamia told me that if Victor was capable of taking control of Pokémon through some psychic connection, which he gained from sharing the DNA of Azelf, Uxie, and Mesprit, maybe he was a little bit more like a Pokémon than like a human.

"Wow…" I can't believe that worked. All that Pokémon DNA spliced in with Zamia's DNA created a creature that looked and acted like a spoiled human, yet it was Pokémon enough to be caught inside an empty Master Ball. I guess Victor really _was_ the link between humans and Pokémon. Zamia was victorious in his studies, after all; he just didn't realize it.

A purple Master Ball lay on the floor where Victor once stood. I just watched it happen, but it's still tough to believe he's inside that thing. But I've learned one key thing about the function of Pokéballs and won a lifelong argument with my sister: All Pokémon are naked. How do I know? Victor's clothes and other effects are in a pile on the floor. When the Master Ball turned his body into energy, he left behind everything else. It seems a Pokéball only transforms organic matter; Victor's clothes were inorganic. I guess that proves Carrie was lying when she told me she didn't have to replace the ribbon in her eevee's hair every time she opened the Pokéball.

But now isn't the time to taunt my sister or worry about a naked Victor inside a Pokéball. Without his influence, his Pokémon seem to be rampaging. Well, Liberty the bronzong actually looks confused; it even slows its movements so much I think it may have shut itself down. But Palidor the lugia is _definitely_ rampaging. Even when Victor was in control, Palidor wasn't blasting away with Aeroblast like he is now. He keeps tearing apart all the machines in the room and striking his half-legendary opponents. Unfortunately, as strong as Omar is with rayquaza DNA, he's only half Pokémon and doesn't even come close to being a match for a full-grown lugia. Even Elden isn't safe; he gets caught by Aeroblast and blown straight into the broken machines. As blood streams down his backside and his four arms go limp by his sides, I can't help thinking my odds of survival are even lower. I'm only protected because Aeroblast is a focused move and Palidor isn't aiming in my direction. I am catching the castoff, however, when the blast hits the wall and splits around the room.

As soon as it occurs to me that Palidor won't stop until he exhausts himself, I reach for Victor's effects. His Pokéballs have to be here somewhere. All I have to do is recall Palidor before anyone else gets hurt. I remember seeing Victor use the Safari Ball here to summon Zantetsu, and I think Liberty came out of a Great Ball. That's the blue one.

Hang on. The only thing left here is a generic Pokéball. If the Safari Ball goes to Zantetsu and the Great Ball goes to Liberty, then Victor actually managed to contain the power of a lugia inside a basic Pokéball? He really was an impressive trainer, even if he wasn't fully human.

As soon as I point the Pokéball at Palidor, I start to think I'm in a Three Stooges skit. Not only does the Pokéball not successfully recall Palidor, it jolts a bit and shorts out. There's a crack in the back near the junction. I guess it got damaged somehow when I turned Victor into electromagnetic energy. The other two balls don't work right, either. I guess that means we'll actually have to subdue Victor's Pokémon.

Every time Palidor runs out of energy, he stops to take a deep breath and then lets loose with another high-powered attack. He just ripped a hole in the roof. Now he's raising the temperature of the room with Dragonbreath. Soon enough, his power won't matter; if he doesn't restrain himself, he could end up exhausting himself, possibly to the brink of death. But the rest of us won't last that long—not if Palidor continues rampaging. I don't think Omar can even move anymore, and Fell is only going to be able to use Protect for so long before he, too, runs out of willpower. Olivia obviously beat herself up very quickly against Elden and Liberty, and even though Remy is still moving, she's having trouble learning how to use her wings; she keeps trying to use them like arms, but they are much weaker than she's used to and her feathers caught one of Palidor's Aeroblasts, which carried her entire body back behind the wreckage of what used to be her cage.

Musashi is leaning against the wall breathing heavily, as is Zantetsu. I can't tell who is winning in their fight, but I can tell from their glances that Zantetsu didn't need Victor's influence in order to view Musashi as a rival. But neither of them is having an easy time battling one another with Palidor so keen on sharing his power. That means I won't get Musashi's help here. There has to be some way for me to beat down a lugia on my own, and even if there isn't, I have to try.

I can't help thinking about how much harder it is for me than it is for anyone in the movies. As soon as they make the big, heroic declaration, movie heroes always manage to get something done. I, on the other hand, can't get close to Palidor. That Dragonbreath intensifies the pain in my leg. Using the ram seal might help considerably, but I usually don't do so until I can see a path to take. All I can see right now is fire and broken machines. I can't picture any kind of attack that could close the gap on Palidor. What can I do?

Maybe the appearance of an articuno will help.

"Shiva! Use Ice Beam!"

The blue plumage spreads ice particles through the air. Each flap of those mighty wings lowers the temperature of the room. Snow seems to fall straight off the articuno's feathers, especially its streamer-like tail. That's something articuno shares with a ho-oh. Deborah is over by the door holding an Ultra Ball in her hand, and I can see her Pokéball and Safari Ball at her side. She might have retrieved them from that display case outside the room. Maybe I should check there for Ra.

Deborah hurries to my side while Shiva and Palidor go at one another like two birds fighting over a fish. She's got a purple Master Ball in her hand, with 'CCD' etched into the side. "I saw them working with this earlier. I figured you'd probably want to keep it."

It looks like it could be the ball Mayhan used to steal Ra from me, but they all generally look the same. Still, I can feel the heat coming from the Master Ball; this has got to be the same one. "Thanks," I say and I open the ball. The energy erupts into the room and produces a fifteen-foot phoenix. The temperature instantly rises, and Deborah's auburn hair reacts to the humidity by curling slightly at the roots.

I'm glad to see Ra again. It hasn't been that long since she was taken from me, but I still feel a huge weight lifted from me. I actually started to think it would be a long time before I got to see her again after Mayhan took her away from me.

Come to think of it… Where is Mayhan? And where's Zamia? What happened at the mansion that caused such a ruckus?

No. One problem at a time. It will hardly benefit me to ignore the powerful lugia in the room. It's a good thing Deborah found Ra because Shiva isn't going to last forever. As powerful as an articuno is, it is still overpowered when it faces a lugia head-to-head. Palidor's psychic attacks are brutal when he's freaked out like a cornered rattata. I haven't seen a Pokémon panic like this in a long time, and I've never seen it happen with one so strong. If it's possible, it seems like Palidor has gotten even _stronger_ without Victor.

Ra notices Palidor's rampage and takes the initiative. Without any words of encouragement or attack commands from me, she turns right around and blows a stream of fire, which ignites Palidor's feathers momentarily. Palidor is quick to respond, though, and begins shifting his chakra toward moisture and the water element. The Aqua Ring surrounds his body for a moment, almost rendering him immune to fire. He cranes his neck around and releases a Water Gun attack, a lower-pressure stream of water than Hydro Pump, but still pretty effective at dousing Ra's flames.

Shiva attempts to strike at Palidor's back with a Sky Attack. Having flown through the hole in the roof and gained enough altitude to build some real speed, Shiva dove and, at the last second, pulled her talons out to strike Palidor down out of the air. The floor of the dome rattles wildly when the two massive birds hit the floor—enough to knock Deborah off her feet if I didn't catch her and put my hand on the wall for extra support.

Palidor releases another Aeroblast and blows Shiva across the room. After a landing like that, this room is now wiped clean of any functioning equipment. While Palidor is still on the floor, Ra lets loose a Fire Blast; the flames are hot enough to melt the ceiling and make the hole bigger. Even the clouds grow from the drastic temperature change and rain begins to pour from the sky. That won't help a fire-type like Ra. That Fire Blast wasn't hot enough to do more than singe Palidor; the lugia releases a burst of energy in a Dragon Pulse, which stuns Ra long enough for Palidor to channel his chakra into an Aqua Tail attack. The attack clearly adds to the injury already inflicted on Ra by the rain.

"He's strong enough to take down two legendary Pokémon?" I ask incredulously. "How are we going to beat him before he kills everyone?"

"Fenrir might be able to help," Deborah suggests hesitantly. Her umbreon has a natural defense against psychic attacks, stemming from its particular chakra element. The dark-type, as it's often called, is a blend of chakra that counteracts psychic energy like preemptive antibodies, preventing the user from suffering much damage at all. But the fact remains that Palidor is enormous, especially compared with Fenrir, and he isn't limited to just the psychic element; Palidor seems to have perfect control over four elements—the most I've ever seen from a single Pokémon.

As the clouds grow darker overhead, I can see jolts of lightning forming. None have jumped far enough to reach the ground yet.

CRACK!

I spoke too soon. If every second after you see the flash of lightning indicates the lightning struck another mile away, then this lightning landed right on top of me. But I'm not burned or anything, and neither is Deborah, although she's clutching her head as if she has the same ringing in her ears I now have.

Palidor is hardly moving now. The massive bird is unconscious on the floor, and I can only see the slightest movement in the belly to indicate he's still alive. But what drew that lightning down here? Olivia isn't stupid enough to try something like that just because she's half zapdos, is she?

I can't believe my first thought didn't jump straight to Sundance. My father's incredibly stubborn Pokémon is on the floor right in front of Palidor. He must be exhausted after all that; that's why he's asleep.

As I approach, it becomes clear… He's not in front of Palidor—he's _under_ him! After that Thunder attack struck Palidor, the lugia collapsed with his tail on top of Sundance's haunches. Sundance's hindquarters are crushed under the weight of the legendary bird. I grab the tail and try to move it, but it's too big and heavy for me. I can't get it!

Suddenly the tail rises. Ra grabbed it with her beak and used the strength in her back to pull the tail off of Sundance. She watches me as I cradle Sundance's head in my arms and stroke his cheek. But his belly _isn't_ moving.

"Sundance…"

Deborah can see it, too. She puts her hand gently on my shoulder to comfort me. "Jin… This jolteon was six hundred years old in human years." She's exaggerating for effect. If the average ten-year life of a jolteon is compared to the average eighty-year life of a human, then Sundance was 128 years old.

I can remember when I first got Sundance after Dad's heart attack. He was a stubborn pain in the ass who always did whatever he wanted even when I offered him food to do something else. He hasn't changed much during these fourteen years, except now he would occasionally listen to me. Pokémon veterinarians have been telling me for seven years that he won't live much longer. Even though he's what the collectors call a "shiny Pokémon," he still lived four years longer than average. He was just too stubborn to die.

I guess this time, he just pushed himself too hard.

"You let your guard down!"

If I had turned a half second sooner, I would have seen Van—that human slaking—as he drew his one arm back in preparation of a Night Slash aimed directly at my neck. Instead, I saw him fall to his knees as blood cascaded from his backside. Standing just to his left amid the rubble of the room, Musashi struggles to catch his breath as Van's blood slides down his bladed arm. I quickly look across the room to see Zantetsu unconscious with slash marks all over his exoskeleton and scizor blood gushing from his gut. Somehow, Musashi managed to beat Zantetsu one-on-one even during all the commotion of Palidor's rampage.

I reach my hand out to Musashi, and he gently places the flat of his blade on my palm. He's exhausted, but he's okay. Van is not. I don't think he lasted much longer than the time it took for him to hit the floor. Musashi cut open his basilica vein, the very maneuver I taught him for ending a fight quickly—the one Van continually anticipated and prevented when he attacked us near the woods.

"Not so easy when Victor isn't telling you what to expect, is it?" I ask him. My best guess is that the first time I saw Van, he had Victor telling him psychically what attack Musashi was going to use next, and that helped him know exactly how to avoid that attack.

Considering his age and the fact that he took a fully grown lugia down with him, I'm sure Sundance and my dad would be happy with the way he went out. After a few tears form in my eyes and the rain wipes them away, I remind myself that I knew he was going to die sooner or later, and I've still got other important things to worry about right now. I'll take care of his remains later.

"What the hell happened in here?"

Is that Anfernee's voice? What's he doing here?

I'm tempted to recall Ra and Musashi into their respective Pokéballs, but Zamia is still around here somewhere, and if they didn't run off, his human Pokémon are still surrounding the dome. I'm probably safer if I let them stay with me. At least they can get past the rubble in this room more easily than I can. And I suggest that Ra take a moment to fly into the sky and use her Sunny Day ability. Essentially, she releases a great deal of charged chakra into the air. The change in pressure parts the clouds and allows the sun to shine through.

The next room is devoid of people except for three rain-soaked bodies walking in through the front door, which appears to have been broken open. Anfernee, Emily, and Lisa are coming in. I'm so excited to see her, I lose all sense of what just happened and run to pull her into my arms. I only have to go half the distance, though, because she's just as eager to be there. She smells amazing, though I can tell that getting here was not exactly a walk in the park for her. She smells a bit like a wet tree, but I'm one to talk, and neither of us seems to mind what the other has been through.

"See?" is the first thing she says. She never breaks contact with me, but I think she's talking to Anfernee and Emily. "I told you Jin wasn't working for Zamia."

"Is that what they told you?" I ask. Obviously Zamia's cronies wanted to make sure everyone abandoned me, thus leaving me without backup.

Lisa smiles with a look that says she was legitimately worried about my safety. "I didn't believe them for a minute." I'm lucky to have earned her trust so thoroughly in such a short time. Perhaps she is even better at reading people than I am.

But she's got a small cut on her forehead and her arms look burned. "What happened to you?"

"She took out an abomasnow by herself," Anfernee answers for me. He proceeds to tell me that she was faster and probably stronger than a three hundred-pound Pokémon, and she can use chakra, too, specifically with the fire element.

I give her a look of pure amazement. "You held back when we sparred." She just smiles and agrees that she did.

Emily says she hates to break us out of our fatuous distraction, but, "What's going on around here? As if it weren't tough enough to get through all that foliage, we got in a fight with something that looked like a small palkia."

"It wasn't a palkia," Anfernee insists. "I'm not sure _what_ it was, but it more closely resembled a cross between a palkia and a man." He's probably not far off. I ask about their Pokémon, and Lisa tells me that Goddard had their primary Pokémon in a briefcase. Their legendary Pokémon were stored in the basement bar, guarded by some guy who Bernie and Shawn managed to take down. I can't believe Zamia was serious when he said the other trainers would be sent home _with_ their Pokémon. He's still a mystery to me.

Emily continues, "And while our Pokémon are battling, we see a whole bunch of other half-breed Pokémon go running off into the woods. I guess my questions, in order of priority, are: What the hell were those things, and what's going on here?"

I can't help but laugh just a little, not because the situation is funny, but because both of those are really tough questions with very long answers. I tell her such. "The short version is: Zamia has been doing genetic experiments to turn Pokémon into humans. At first it was to figure out every single, fundamental difference between them, but then it became a line of research he hopes will ultimately extend his life and allow him to continue his research."

None of the three knows what to make of that story. I assure them they'd probably not understand the full story; I'm a biologist and I am _still_ confused.

So instead, Emily asks, "Did you find out what happened to the guys who disappeared?"

I smack my head and let go of Lisa with one hand, but I keep the other basically attached to her back, pulling her with me as I head back to the other room. "They'll probably need medical attention." I look between Emily and Anfernee, but neither of them has medical training.

"The Lady might be able to help," Anfernee suggests.

"Sunday?" I repeat, probably sounding a lot more surprised than I intend to. "She's here?"

"She came with us," Lisa tells me. "She didn't like the idea of someone else possessing her Pokémon for any length of time, so she helped us make our way here through the woods." She scoffs at her memory and says, "Then when we got here through those ridiculously dense trees, Bernie and everyone else who stayed behind at the mansion came out of some storage shed thing. They said there was a secret passage in the bar room of the mansion."

"Really?" I remember there being another passageway when Mayhan brought me out of the food storage room and into the woods. I guess it led to the mansion.

We haven't taken two steps into the next room when suddenly there's a potentially deafening roar, several loud crashed and pounding sounds, and multiple screams from outside the dome. I don't even bother to ask what that was, nor do I need to pull Lisa with me; we're both eagerly hopping over rubble on our way out of the dome.

Out in the village area, built by Zamia's experimental subjects, I see all the other tournament participants. Sunday is closest to the dome, Bernie seems to be protecting Timmy and favoring one of his legs, Shawn and Geoff are on their backs on the ground, and Jess is being held in the arms of a giant, dinosaur-like Pokémon with pearly scales. The thing must be fourteen feet tall and looks to weigh in excess of 750 pounds. It has heavy hind legs and a thick tail that let it stand upright, wide wings on its back, large shoulders, an elongated neck, and two short tusks on each side of its mouth. Its clawed hands are wrapped around Jess's midsection as she struggles to get away.

"Now _that's_ a palkia," Anfernee comments nonchalantly.

There's another, even larger Pokémon behind the palkia. This one has lustrous, blue and silver scales and has more evenly distributed weight, forcing it to be a quadruped. It has to be eighteen feet tall and weigh a ton with that solid body of armor around its chest and belly. It has large, pointed protrusions on its back and a crest matching its forehead in color. Two very large horns connect to tusk-like fangs on the side of its mouth.

Zamia is here, too. He's not as tall as the palkia, but seeing how tall he is next to the dragon really helps put his Pokémon DNA-influenced height in perspective. He doesn't look happy. That scowl on his face makes him look incredibly ugly. Er… Even uglier than a giratina man already looks.

"I was willing to let you all leave without incident," he says in that raspy, ghastly voice. "Now I think I've changed my mind."

* * *

_Two chapters remain. The next one will probably be the most difficult and entirely theoretical one of the entire story_. _It won't be full of science, but it will have some speculation based on science. You'll see when I finally figure out how to describe it all. (Some of you may already have an inkling what I'm talking about.) I hope to have it up in two weeks, but it may take longer if the science becomes truly difficult for me. This time, it's physics-not biology._

_I appreciate all the characters that were submitted to me. I'm sorry I didn't get to use the ones who were submitted after I started, but the whole "private island" thing didn't lend well to introducing new characters. If I write another Pokemon story, I hope you'll considering submitting a character again.  
_

_Credits:  
__Emily...sunshine5991  
Anfernee...watts63  
Lady Sunday...Happy2BMe  
Fell...Happy2BMe  
Shawn...Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess...Imagination Domination  
Everyone else...YamiRuss_


	22. A Round of Distortion

**A Round of Distortion**

I can't believe this whole trip has culminated in this moment. Victor turned out to be a Pokémon, I finally lost Sundance, and Zamia has one of the largest Pokémon I've ever seen holding Jess in its grasp, ready to squeeze her life from her at his whim. And on top of all that, it's dark and raining. What can I do now? I can't think of anything I can say or ask to get him to let her go. I doubt he's even willing anymore. He looks ready to kill us all right here and now, and it would be no trouble for him to load the ship when it comes and make sure it sinks in the ocean, wiping away all suggestion that anything except a tournament happened on this island. It takes only a few minutes to convince everyone that Zamia hid from us all this time _because_ he looks like that.

But I have to do something! Jess looks like she's in so much pain, squirming to break free of that palkia's grip without impaling herself on its claws…

"Why did you give Goddard our Pokémon?" Sunday asks just before I can say anything.

Zamia scoffs. "You were supposed to wait quietly and leave in the morning."

"Is that why you put our legendary Pokémon in the basement? A calculating man like yourself thought leaving them with Goddard was sloppy, but you still intended to stand by your word and let us depart in the same condition we arrived."

"With few exceptions, that is correct," Zamia admits. "But you have killed my subordinates, frightened my experiments, and wrecked my laboratory. At this point, cutting my losses means killing all of you and starting over."

"You don't have that much time," I chime in. "You're getting old, and any delays in your research will just leave you that much older."

"Death comes for us all," Sunday says sternly. Her contorted facial expression tells me to back off and shut up. "Death is nothing to fear for a man whose legacy will last forever. You and your research have already changed the world of Pokémon ten times over."

"I don't care about the world of Pokémon," Zamia confesses. "_I_ am the one with the questions that need answering. Any effect on others' knowledge of Pokémon is coincidence and irrelevant."

"At a certain point, it comes time to let the younger generations take over and answer the remaining questions."

I don't think this approach is going to work with Zamia. Sunday may be a good psychiatrist, but Zamia has the ability to spend time inside other people's heads, too. If he's done to everyone else what he did to me—namely, searching through my memories while I slept—then he knows every trick Sunday can try.

The real question is: Why hasn't he decided to kill Jess already?

As I listen to the words Sunday carefully chooses, I realize the problem. Zamia isn't a murderer; he's just a scientist whose life was disrupted, and he can't figure out how to return things to normal. It goes without saying that if he lets us go, someone will alert the authorities to some of the strange occurrences on the island. Zamia wouldn't be able just to go about his research. Eventually, he'd be either killed or detained. The only way he can see to get out of this with as little damage as possible to his way of life is to kill us and claim our ship sank at sea.

And those are the words Sunday is careful _not_ to use. She's able to hint at knowing what he's thinking without actually giving voice—and, therefore, credibility—to that possibility. She's trying to convince Zamia that what he should do instead is let us go, stop his research, and escape somewhere he can relax and live peacefully; no one lives forever.

"_I_ will."

With that, Balboa and Apollo—Lisa's lucario and blaziken—jump out of the trees and launch themselves at the palkia in an effort to free Jess. Unfortunately, the dialga is faster and releases dragon-type energy from its body, causing it to swirl around the group in a Twister and repel Lisa's Pokémon.

"Kill her!" Zamia commands of the palkia. Too quickly for me even to imagine getting there in time, the palkia begins to squeeze its claws around Jess's body. She puts on a look of pain and anguish, but she never screams. Sunday calls out her raikou, but it's not fast enough to save Jess.

Suddenly, I'm aware of a bubble of chakra surrounding Jess's body and preventing the palkia from doing any real damage. Is Jess able to use aura energy? Sunday's raikou charges forward and releases a burst of electrical energy, shocking the palkia just enough to make it release Jess's body.

She's flying! Or floating… What the hell? Jess's body shines for just a second, and a latias appears where Jess once stood. That means…

Jess peeks her head out of one of the huts. She's got a cloth wrapped around her arm and shoulder, so I can only assume she injured herself somewhere along the trip over here. I forgot that her latias can reflect light to change her appearance, but apparently Zamia forgot that, too. I'll have to ask later whether it was just a gut feeling, or if Jess actually had a reason to send her latias out in her place. Either way, it worked out well this time. And now Zamia has no leverage over us.

"Blasted Pokémon," Zamia grumbles. He grits his teeth and begins channeling energy into his head and the air around him. All of a sudden, the other trainers drop to the ground with varying degrees of pain. I would wonder what's wrong, but my head is buzzing loudly, telling me exactly what's going on. Zamia's doing that astral projection thing again, getting into our heads and disrupting body chemistry.

Luckily, I'm able to resist him so much as to reduce my pain to a big headache.

"You're very disciplined," Zamia tells me, "but don't delude yourself into thinking you are immune!" Suddenly the pressure gets heavier, almost to migraine level. I'm starting to lose visual acuity; everything is slowly being replaced with bright lights.

"I know how to stop it."

Beneath the lights, I can see Lisa lunge at Zamia. If she hits him hard enough, he should lose his focus and get out of our heads. She pushes forward and thrusts her fist forward…

And misses? Zamia doesn't even move, and Lisa stumbles and ends up somersaulting into the mud. It's a little slick out here, but there's no way Lisa misjudged her attack by that much. To my blurry eyes, it looked like she hit him dead on, but her hand somehow passed straight through him.

Can that be possible? Could Zamia have the ability to move through solid matter? In theory, atomic structure consists primarily of empty space, but atomic bonds prevent such atoms from passing through one another. So far, scientists have never been able to change that fact. The only counterexample I can think of…

#

_A purple, kite-shaped creature almost my size springs from the bathroom door even before I finish opening it. Every muscle in my body tenses as I quickly jump away and hurl the shampoo bottle. The world is as slow-motion to me while I watch the bottle contact the creature straight between the eyes… and slip straight through! The creature's forehead seemed to disperse long enough for the bottle to pass by and then reform when it was gone._

_I catch my breath and realize I've seen this assailant before. My "assailant" is actually a prank-prone haunter—a gas Pokémon. The fact that they have very little total mass and can disperse their body cells around solid objects—like my bathroom wall—is why people refer to them as ghost Pokémon. They aren't actually ghosts, but it is a fairly apt description; if ghosts were real, they'd probably be just a collection of air molecules with a consciousness. But the coolest trait of these "ghosts" is they can either spread their molecules to move through solid matter, or they can condense their molecules to make physical contact with objects._

#

I had a similar problem when I attacked Fell's haunter. Maybe Zamia… I don't know anything about this giratina thing he's accommodated into his biology, but I'll bet it's a ghost Pokémon. Or part ghost, anyway. If he is, then physical attacks like from my swords will likely be worthless, especially if Zamia has control over that ability. But the bonds of spatially-manipulated atoms can be obstructed or even destroyed by elemental chakra. Fire or electricity works well enough, but there's another kind of chakra that works especially effectively. Ignoring the pain in my head, I form the rat seal with my hands, and then open the palm of my right hand as my chakra begins to swirl.

#

"_Sundance! Shadow Ball!" Sundance hears my voice and agrees to follow my request. His chakra begins flowing and rotating in his mouth. Finally he rushes at Seraph and releases the energy directly into her breast. Coupled with Sundance's power, Shadow Ball—a ghost-type energy attack—inflicts enormous damage on Seraph._

"_That was a good match," Lisa tells me afterward. "It's not often you see a jolteon with Shadow Ball."_

"_A move tutor taught him," I say vaguely. When Lisa asks me why I would bother spending the time for a tutor to teach a ghost move to an electric Pokémon, I simply shrug and tell her, "The option was there. I figured, why pass it up?"_

#

My chakra swirls rapidly in the palm of my hand, drawing energy from my arm and the air around me alike into a single mass about the size of a bowling ball. It's tough to keep it going with the havoc Zamia is trying to wreak inside my brain, but generating the flow of ghostly chakra seems to have alleviated the effect. I can focus more easily now, and so I try to make the Shadow Ball in my hand as big as I can before I dash straight at Zamia. Between his efforts to project himself astrally and to avoid Lisa's attacks, he's distracted just long enough for me to thrust the Shadow Ball into his belly.

Most Pokémon are able to condense enough chakra into a Shadow Ball to hurl the energy over a distance at the enemy. I don't have energy reserves quite so great, though; if I try to throw a Shadow Ball, the energy dissipates in the air, and I'm usually left with an attack that can be eliminated with a swat of the hand. That's why I keep the Shadow Ball in my hand; that way I can continue to condense the Shadow Ball until the second it hits its target.

The shock is enough to knock Zamia off his feet and onto his deformed ass. Instantly, the other trainers begin coughing and wheezing as they reach for air to fill their lungs again. It takes them a moment to shake Zamia's influence away from their heads, but they all seem driven by the same realization that Zamia is not beaten—just wounded. All the trainers pull a Pokéball from their sides and summon their legendary Pokémon. Groudon, regirock, and heatran form a powerful guard in front, raikou and suicune take up the sides, darkrai floats overhead, and shaymin stays back with the group. Against a group like this, even Zamia looks fazed.

"Use Power Gem," he roars at his Pokémon. Both dialga and palkia released a spray of particles into the air. It would be minimally noticeable except they also release a ray of light that reflects of all the particles and blinds each of us temporarily. By the time I can see again, Zamia is gone.

"Where'd Zamia go?" Lisa asks. Then she grumbles, "Running away, no doubt." But he left his Pokémon behind, and that poses a big problem for us. If the stories are at all accurate about dialga and palkia, then they are much more powerful than the average Pokémon. Can we take them?

"Get after him!" Anfernee shouts at me. At first I wonder why he picked me, but then, I do know more about Zamia than any of the others do. "We'll take care of these two."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Geoff scoffs and says, "Of course! We took care of those crappy clones, didn't we?"

They weren't clones, but that's not important to debate right now. "These Pokémon are going to be stronger than whatever you fought before." Bernie insists there's still nothing to worry about with this army of legendary Pokémon.

Lisa tells me we should hurry back to the mansion to look for Zamia, but I can't leave without my Pokémon. And there are still injured people inside the dome. I can't just leave Omar and Fell in there. I tell the others as I start to head back inside, but Emily insists that I hurry and not let Zamia get away. Maybe I'll do that, but first…

"Sunday!" I get her attention, but probably only because I didn't add "Lady" to her name. I quickly tell her that Omar, Olivia, Remy, and Fell are inside, but Zamia did genetic testing on them using some kind of fast-acting virus intended to combine their DNA with Pokémon DNA. I basically try to warn her what to expect, and I suggest taking Timmy and his shaymin with her; the shaymin might be helpful for healing wounds and drawing out toxins. She acts like she doesn't care what I have to say, but as I turn my body away from the dome, I see Sunday say something to Timmy and run inside.

"One more thing," I say to Lisa. I put my fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly. Suddenly I head a fluttering directly behind me; I turn around expecting to be jumped, but instead I see Musashi's face just six inches away from me. I stumble back and tell him, "Don't do that!" I take a few deep breaths and ask Lisa, "We don't really have time for a change of shorts, do we?"

She hides a smile and points out Ra flying overhead. "Let's go." She looks to Balboa and Apollo by her side as we all start moving in the direction of the mansion. "We burned a path straight through the woods before. It should be a lot quicker to get back to the mansion that way."

"What about the path Bernie and the others took?" I ask her. "Didn't they say there's a secret path that leads to the basement?"

"Oh, yeah. That's probably faster. They said it was inside some kind of bunker."

A bunker? Remembering how Mayhan brought me here, I get the feeling I know where the path is. I take the lead now and head straight for the underground path with the storm cellar door. I have to recall Ra into the Master Ball, though, because she's much too big to fit down there. There's nothing to recognize with the bland, concrete walls, but I do recognize the stale smell down this way. It isn't until we reach that four-way junction that Lisa begins to sound concerned.

"Which way do we go?"

I try to remember this intersection. If I recall correctly, Mayhan and I turned right when we came out of the storage room, so it should be to the left of here. I'm pretty good with cardinal directions anyway, so I'm also pretty sure the mansion is down the straight-ahead path.

"Great. Let's go." Lisa is in a hurry to get to the mansion and find Zamia. I wonder what she's planning to do. Is she willing to kill him? I suppose it would be easier for her because she only knows his monstrous side; only I know the scientist with the dubious morals.

But more than the ethical dilemma ahead of me, I feel strangely compelled to go down the right path. Maybe it's curiosity or maybe it's intuition, but I can't escape the suspicion that something is down there. Maybe I'm crazy, but that path heads into the center of the island. And there's something about the fact that Zamia discovered three Pokémon from a different dimension while he resided here…

"Where are you going?" Lisa asks. "You said the mansion is _that_ way."

"Just a hunch…"

The path doesn't go far before ending with a large, heavy door. I try pushing it open, but it doesn't want to budge. I spend a moment thinking all this running around might have made Lisa a little goofy when she says she'll get it. I didn't realize she meant that Balboa would get it. The lucario stands in front of the door, sets his stance, then pulls his fist back and pauses. After a moment of building energy, he lands a solid Focus Punch in the center of the door, building a solid crack up the middle. An extra Blaze Kick from Apollo splinters the door and reveals enough of an opening for us to slip through.

This room isn't made of concrete; it's just rock. And I wouldn't be able to see a thing if I weren't smart enough to pick up one of those splinters from the door and get Apollo to light the tip of it for me. This little cave has a pool at the back. I can tell pretty quickly it is the same water that Zamia showed me—the faux quicksilver. There must be some kind of connecting tunnel underneath the wall, meaning this pool is bigger than I originally thought.

"What is that thing?"

I look back to figure out what Lisa's talking about. And I'm not sure what to call it. There's some kind of cloud… Well, not really a cloud. It's not like a gas or anything. Maybe a window? There's _something_ over the end of the pool—something pitch-black and immobile. Musashi looks moderately intrigued by it, but Balboa points to it vigorously. He makes some sort of motion, which, I guess, Lisa can understand.

"Balboa can sense life in here. It must be some kind of portal."

"A portal?" That's weird. Where could it go? Then it hits me: "Weren't those Pokémon discovered in another dimension? One made of antimatter?"

"I think so. You think this will take us there?"

"It could easily be dangerous, but I assume Zamia had to find that other dimension somehow."

"Then let's go."

That was abrupt. I quickly jump over and grab her arm before she steps into the void. "Wait! Didn't you hear the part about the danger? What if we're wrong about what this thing is?"

"What are the odds of that?" she asks. "You think this is a black hole? There's no gravity here." That's true, but… She grabs my hand. "We'll go together, then. Have a little faith."

I can't help but groan in pessimistic anticipation. "Science hates faith."

"We'll work on that," she says with a smile. Then she pulls my arm and forces me to go with her through the portal. It is an odd sensation that jolts my body, but it is not entirely painful—like stepping through a door while licking a battery.

The other side is difficult to explain. We're not in a cave anymore—more like an open area with an occasional tree sprouting. At first glance, it seems very similar to the island we just left, yet it feels so different. Everything is pretty dark, yet it seems illuminated by something. Looking around is like viewing an X-ray; everything seems black, but there is a slightly brighter outline around denser objects. I take just a moment to close my eyes and try to see the energy around me only to find that the energy is everywhere, as if the ground itself is teeming with power. Perhaps the light comes from that energy.

I take in a whiff of the air, but the smell is rather empty. I don't know if scents are eliminated quickly in this dimension or if there truly is nothing to smell, but my nose doesn't alert me to anything nearby. I don't hear much impressive, either. Lisa's breathing and Musashi's fluttering wings, but otherwise, it's just a dull hum.

"Look at that," Lisa says. She points straight up, where, maybe thirty meters above us, an island appears to be floating upside-down. Its trees are pointed at us, yet nothing falls. It is an odd sight. I take a few steps forward to get a better view. Each step I take seems to dissolve a piece of the ground underfoot. The temperature rises for a second after each step, then it returns to normal almost immediately.

Lisa steps forward toward one of the trees. It looks mostly like a normal tree, but its color is darkened, and it would readily be considered dead in our world. "What is this place?" She touches a leaf on the tree, and instantly the leaf disintegrates from her touch. She says it burns just a bit. The disintegration stops just short of the tree branch, and when she tries to touch more, the area of disintegration increases. It is as if Lisa's body cannot coexist with the tree.

"This is a bizarre world, indeed."

Balboa instantly tenses up, and suddenly I'm aware of a large burst of energy coming our way. Something flies straight into the island on which we're standing, and the dirt explodes all around us, leaving every body floating through the space. I look down to see nothing beneath us. It is as the emptiness of space, all except for occasional blocks of dirt like the island that just blew up, and they are not all oriented the same way; same face up, some face down, and some seem to stand sideways.

At first I worry about trying to land on one of the lower islands, but I noticed that I am, in fact, _not_ falling. I'm being drawn toward the nearest island—one that floats sideways from my perspective. When I bump into it, a bit of the dirt disintegrates and burns my shoulder, but suddenly I get the sensation I am lying on my side. I climb to my feet and feel like I am standing perfectly upright, but I can see Lisa and her Pokémon on another island, looking up at me from the same orientation as where we stood before.

"I have a hypothesis," I say. My voice seems to carry straight over to her. I brace myself on this island, and then I push as hard as I can in the direction of an upside-down island. It takes me several seconds to travel that distance, but when I get to it, I now feel like Lisa is the one who is upside-down, and my brain waits without reprieve for her to fall toward me. "It seems as if gravity is nearly nonexistent here. Without a major planet to produce gravity and draw us to it, each of these islands produces the strongest gravitational force." That has to be why it doesn't matter where we stand, we always feel upright, even though our eyes tell us differently.

From my angle, I can see a shadow heading for Lisa's island again. I yell for her to escape. As she and her Pokémon jump to the island I just left, I watch the shadow grow bigger and closer. It seems like some kind of serpentine dragon, probably about twenty feet long. It has some kind of black streamers coming from its back, like the bones of wings but without the skin between them. Its face and back are covered with what appear to be gold plates, or maybe scales. It's hard to tell for sure, but it doesn't look like Zamia, and it doesn't look happy that someone entered its home.

Maybe coming here was a mistake.

I'm not sure what that dragon is, but I know we can't stay in this dimension for long. Contact with the dirt and the trees here cause everything to crumble, and it's followed by an intense burning sensation that lasts just a few seconds. If this world really is made of antimatter, then, being entities composed of matter, none of us can stay here for long. And if these islands keep getting destroyed, we may never find our way back to the portal, which remains statically placed in the air.

"I hate to ask this of you, but we'll need you here." I pull out the purple Master Ball and open it, releasing my mighty phoenix. Ra is large and seems to have a stronger gravitational pull than the islands around us, but she is still not as large as this dragon. It will be a challenge even for one as powerful as she is.

Ra brings behind her a brilliant, rainbow-colored light. She immediately takes to battle with the dragon while I stay back and watch, unsure what I can do in this bizarre world. At least Ra is used to flying. Her experience is fortunate, too, because this dragon is quite maneuverable despite its size. It is not often that Ra is the smaller beast in the air, but that gives her a slight advantage in terms of maneuverability. She's able to do an Aerial Ace to flip around and get behind the dragon.

Suddenly, that dragon disappears. It's just gone! How could something so big… Wait! There it is… behind her? That dragon just disappeared for only a second, then reappeared right behind Ra. And it wasn't a basic reappearance; it's attacking with a massive amount of energy. A beam of great magnitude blasts straight at Ra. She quickly tries to counter it by releasing intense, white flames directly from her body, but even enveloped by the flames, the dragon's power seems to prevail. When the beam hits Ra, it opens a long, wide gash on her backside and burns away a significant portion of her wing. She loses consciousness, but because of the lack of gravity in this world, she just floats there. I quickly recall her into the Master Ball before that dragon can have another go at her.

Apollo and Balboa give their efforts now. Apollo's already powerful legs enable him to jump the distance from one of those islands to the serpentine dragon in little more than a second. He thrusts his flame-soaked arm forward to complete a Sky Uppercut. The second he makes contact, he moves directly _through_ the dragon's body. It isn't like when I touch the ground here and it disintegrates; the dragon avoids this attack like it's a ghost, able to manipulate atomic space. The dragon doesn't counterattack. I think it's wounded.

"It must be burned on a cellular level," I suggest to Musashi. "Ra wounded it before she got hit." I'm still not sure why Ra couldn't endure through that attack. I know it was powerful, but so is she. It must have something to do with this world and the antimatter abound. "What do you think?"

Musashi can't actually talk or understand what I'm saying. But I can understand his body language. He's panting heavily, even though we've been pretty motionless for a while. He's also kneeling, using one of his blades to prop himself up. This is how he looks when he's exhausted. But why?

Suddenly I'm aware that I'm gripping my leg more tightly than usual. I must have ignored it since that dragon showed up, but there is a pretty steady, throbbing pain emanating from my leg at exactly the spot of my scar. I have a similar pain right under my eye. It's nice to know I can prioritize my concern from pain to danger, but being in so much pain means I'll be less likely to move successfully when attacked. It's obvious I'll _need_ to use my chakra to strengthen my body and increase endorphin flow. I can't offer the same thing to Musashi, and I don't want to risk my Pokémon anymore.

"You'd better return, too," I tell him as I recall him into the Safari Ball. My mind wanders to Sundance, but I can't think of him right now. Lisa is risking her Pokémon here, as well. Balboa charges a large ball of energy in his hands and unleashes it at the dragon. He's pretty quick, too, and continually attacks that dragon using multiple Aura Spheres, but he seems to do minimal damage.

Suddenly I can feel a powerful force pulling on me. The dragon is manifesting some sort of Gravity energy. It has a slight effect on me, but it pulls much more strongly on Balboa, Apollo, and Lisa. She lifts right off the island where she's standing and floats toward the dragon. I don't even need the chakra training to know that beast is preparing to use a massive attack; it seems to be focusing its entire body of energy into a single spot in its chest. If energy that focused were to rupture, it would probably incinerate Lisa and her Pokémon on the spot. The very idea makes me angry, and this dragon wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Is there anything I can do? This beast might be hurt by shadow-based chakra, but Balboa's Aura Sphere wasn't too effective, so why should I count on my Shadow Ball? Then again… Aura Sphere draws energy from within the user's body to damage the opponent; Shadow Ball uses my chakra to rotate and gather energy from the air around me.

#

"_Imagine the vast amounts of power that could be readily available if such antimatter could be harnessed! A half a kilogram could power the entire country for two days."_

#

If this world is really composed of such potential power, then just maybe…

I form the rat seal and open my hand to collect energy from the air around me. I have to focus perfectly; I can't let this Shadow Ball touch me. If it does, it could kill me. I have to be careful of Lisa and her Pokémon, too. At least that beast is a big target, and as soon as I jump, his Gravity pulls me directly toward him.

With my left hand, I cross my fingers.

_Here's hoping…  
_

_

* * *

_

_The fight is a little short, but it seems more realistic to me that way, considering all this closing fighting takes place in a world made entirely out of antimatter._

_Some of this just had to be made up. I don't know enough about antimatter to know what a world of it would be like, but I do know that when antimatter and matter make contact, they destroy one another and make gamma rays. I touched on a little bit of that, but I tried to pay homage to the fact that the player apparently (I've never played) can wander the Distortion World in Pokemon Platinum, and so the destruction of matter-antimatter wasn't absolute._

_Physics aside, the next chapter will conclude everything, wrap up some things with all the characters, and have one more event that you might not see coming. Stay tuned._

_Credits:  
__Emily...sunshine5991  
Anfernee...watts63  
Lady Sunday...Happy2BMe  
Fell...Happy2BMe  
Shawn...Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess...Imagination Domination  
Everyone else...YamiRuss_


	23. A Round of Conclusion

**A Round of Conclusion**

With all this antimatter swirling just millimeters from my palm, it feels like time stands still for me. My opponent—a massive, gray, ghostly dragon—draws me straight toward it with its Gravity technique. My Shadow Ball should deal damage significant enough to allow Lisa and me to escape this distorted world. The real trick, though, is in releasing the energy at the right moment. If I hold onto it or hold on too long, the blowback could burn my arm right off, as a best-case scenario. If I let go too early, the energy could dissipate significantly and do very little damage to my opponent.

Timing is difficult with an opponent this size; but I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out. Paying full attention to every aspect of its body and the air around it, I get a good look at the beast and get my timing down. It bears a striking resemblance to the mutated form of Professor Zamia. The skin looks very similar and the mass is nearly identical, but this beast's body is very different. Is it possible—in even the most unlikely scenarios—that the altered physics of this dimension altered the shape and form of Zamia's body?

Yeah, maybe in the most outlandish of scenarios, but it's terribly unlikely. And regardless of this being a giratina or Zamia's deformed body, it seems intent on killing us. As soon as I can see the whites of its eyes…

Now! I send a burst of chakra through my arm and propel the Shadow Ball ahead of me. The energy merges with the dragon's skin only a few feet in front of me. It seems like my attack had no effect. No, it definitely did. Suddenly I can see nothing except black. I feel numb, except I have the sensation of hurtling backward. Apparently in this world without much gravity, Newton's third law of motion still applies. At least, I hope it does. If the reaction to my technique was to hurl me backward through this space, I really hope the original action was to send that dragon hurtling in the other direction.

I slam into one of the floating islands, and now I've learned that there is no gravity holding these things in place; my momentum carries the island off its current axis. It probably only takes me a few seconds to slow to a stop after that, but it feels like an hour. Slowly, my vision starts coming back. It looks like Apollo is standing next to me looking curious. He offers me a hand up, which is a little odd. I can't lift my arm that far. My muscles are incredibly stiff and I can't feel anything on my right side.

Apollo grabs my arm and leaps through the air. It should hurt, but I can't really feel my arm. Maybe the adrenaline and endorphins are numbing the pain for me. That's why I'm not hurt when he bounces off another island and yanks me along behind him. He takes me straight to the portal and yanks me through onto solid ground.

I've never been so glad to be in a cave before. The rocky terrain hurts my back, but the pain is dull and doesn't even compare to the extreme burning sensation I feel throughout my arm and into my chest. I didn't notice this pain on the other side of that portal. Admittedly, I was loaded with adrenaline at the time, but I've never felt this much pain even after using a Shadow Ball. Sometimes the technique eats away at the nerve endings in my fingers… Chakra use is supposed to leave me feeling exhausted and numb, not like someone lit a fire on my arm under the skin.

"What's wrong?" Lisa asks. She can see me rolling over my arm constantly as if to extinguish the flames, but she can't see the fire I feel. "Jin?"

"My arm," I tell her. "I can't…"

I can't tell if she touches me or not. I can't feel anything except the pain that permeates my body. It's pulsating through me. My heart is racing, I'm soaked with sweat, and my entire body aches from the repercussions of my Shadow Ball technique.

Finally the burning sensation begins to subside. My first thought is that my body is finally able to adjust to the effects of the antimatter, but when I manage to lift my eyelids, I see Seraph floating around in front of me. The cresselia's brilliant array of lights almost blinds me, but coincidentally, I seem to feel better every time the swan-like body bounces or flips around. It feels like she's covering me with pixie dust.

"What's she doing?"

Lisa lets out a big sigh of relief when she hears me speak. "The Lunar Dance. Seraph is good with healing techniques. I just thought she could help."

"Thanks." Seraph's Lunar Dance really does make me feel better. The burning is gone now, and I'm pretty much back to normal; only my leg still hurts. I can finally sit up, but then I fall back down when Lisa basically tackles me. I try to squeeze her back while Seraph finishes her dance.

When the dance completes, Lisa thanks Seraph and then kisses me. I love the feel of her lips. Her skin feels amazing now that I don't feel like I'm dying anymore. "Is this a bad time to ask for your phone number?"

She actually laughs. I guess my joke hit her well after such a high-stress situation.

As the night draws to an end, I sit in a chair with Lisa asleep in my arms.

Lisa and I checked around the area further, but we still found no sign of Zamia. We reunited with the other trainers and returned to the mansion. We picked one room to stay in, moved in as much extra furniture as we needed, and we barricaded the door with Pokémon guards. Until the ship arrives at the island, we decided to stay put together and get even a few hours of sleep.

I checked out Jess's shoulder and helped her wrap it. I'm no doctor, but I've seen enough sprained shoulders on the baseball diamond to know how to identify and treat them. Otherwise, everyone was in pretty good shape, all things considered. Timmy's shaymin helped heal some of the wounds Omar, Fell, Remy, and Olivia sustained. They were apparently healed pretty decently by Deborah's blissey.

Actually, Deborah took off almost immediately after we stopped that lugia earlier. She didn't even know about the dialga or the palkia. She took a bunch of the Pokéballs from Zamia's display case and even captured Palidor before leaving. I guess it wasn't really a surprise to anyone, considering Deborah's status as a Rocket, but I still think there's something different about her. Why did she bother stopping to have her blissey heal the others? She probably saved Omar's life.

And on the note of dialga and palkia, it seems Bernie's group battled Zamia's dialga-based assistant in the mansion's basement while Lisa's group battled Zamia's palkia-based assistant in the woods. The dialga assistant was guarding the legendary Pokémon. Even though the actual dialga and palkia were much stronger than the human versions, it was an easier battle because the others had their legendary Pokémon to help. I almost wish I could have seen it. They didn't have to worry about killing the dialga or palkia because when they started to get too weak to battle, they opened some kind of portal and used it to travel to another world—probably the same dimension where Lisa and I battled the giratina.

I'm still not certain, but I think it was Zamia.

I never do fall asleep after all that. Lisa settled into my arms, but whereas she nodded off from exhaustion, I sit here staring out the window. I can't help thinking about Omar and Fell. We explained to the other trainers what happened and what Zamia did to them—leaving out the less-than-admirable motive of assuming Zamia's identity—but I still see the way everyone sees our part-Pokémon associates.

"I might as well stay here," Fell told me earlier. "My life at home was less than impressive when I _wasn't_ a freak. Besides, very few people will notice I'm gone, and ever fewer will miss me."

Omar's opinion was very similar: "I have no interest in going home like this. None of us can go back to our lives and I have even less interest in being a guinea pig for some geneticist who's fascinated by what Zamia did to us." Omar obviously didn't like his earlier life, anyway.

I feel really bad for those guys. Try as I might, I cannot possibly imagine how they feel. And I'm not sure what, if anything, can be done for them…

And Zamia's mansions? What about all his assets and resources and research? When we tell the authorities what happened during this tournament, they will undoubtedly invade the island and seize everything, including all the slaking-men they can find. Omar's group won't be any safer that way. But if we don't tell anyone what happened, someone is bound to become curious about Zamia's sudden silence and is likely to come to the island looking. He'll either get killed by the slaking-men, who already strike me as resistant to visitors, or he'll figure out what Zamia's been doing here and blow the whistle.

I don't even know what happened to Mayhan or Goddard. They most likely fled the island just like Deborah did. They could end up spilling Zamia's secrets, but I can't imagine them doing so without explaining their personal roles; no way _that_ goes without repercussions. I guess that's just something to worry about when and if it happens.

And then there's the problem of what to do with Victor…

As the sun crosses the horizon, I've decided what I'm going to do: "I'm staying here."

That draws a pretty unanimous round of "Whats?" Lisa goes a step further by asking, "What do you mean?"

"When we tell people what happened here, all of Zamia's resources will be seized by the government." I try to be simple and direct while trying not to make it sound like I just want Zamia's money. I can't help looking at Omar when I add, "I want to take Zamia's place here on this island."

"Are you kidding?" Sunday grumbles. "You want to continue his ludicrous research and create more mutations?"

"Not _create_," I correct her. "_Reverse_. I want to figure out how to help Omar and Fell, Remy and Olivia return to their normal bodies. That won't happen if Zamia's research notes are confiscated."

"How do you plan to do that?" Anfernee asks. "You know practically nothing about Pokémon."

"That's true," I'm willing to admit. "But I got a Master's degree with a four-point-oh, so I'm pretty good at studying and learning. I don't think it will take me long to understand what Zamia did and try to reverse the process."

Fell reminds me, "Zamia wasn't sure how to reverse the process. That's why he infected us in the first place."

"Sometimes it helps to look at research from a new set of eyes and a different worldview. Zamia and I have different core beliefs; I think that will be one of the keys to changing them back."

"What about everyone else in the world?" Bernie asks me. "They're not just going to believe you're Professor Zamia; he's, like, eighty years old."

"He was fifty-two," I argue, "but that's not the point. You told me there was a rumor circulating he had a son. It won't be hard to fake a blood test and establish myself as the unknown son of Charles Zamia. And I know enough about biology and Zamia's research to fake my way through any kind of interview. Admittedly I'll have to put together a new staff, and I'll need some assistants calling me Zamia, but it worked for the Dread Pirate Roberts."

Timmy looks a little concerned. "You're not going to attack us, are you?"

I smile at him. "Of course not. I want to fix all the things Zamia screwed up. I want to make Omar and Fell healthy again. I want to turn this island into a much more reputable Pokémon research lab without all the unethical studies."

"You want his money," Sunday comments snidely.

I scoff. It's true that becoming the new Zamia would give me a lot more money than I already have from being a teacher, but that's really not what I'm looking for. "This sounds exciting," I admit. "Research of this magnitude does require funding, but it won't be spent on me." For my first example, I look to Sunday. "We both know that regardless of how well these four can fake it right now, going through such a traumatic transformation is murderous on their psychological health. Therapy is something everyone normal can use, anyway; we'll need the help of someone who already understands the situation."

Sunday never shows any sign of appreciation, but her eyes make her seem to like my suggestion. I'm sure she's planning to bolster her rate for all the time she'll have to spend here. Similarly, I hope Bernie and Geoff will help me with all the Internet and computer stuff, and Shawn and Jess might be helpful when I try to figure out how a Pokéball works… which might help me figure out what to do with Victor. When all's said and done, everyone seems content to let me enact my plan to help Omar's group. I can't control what story they each tell when they get home, but they've agreed to leave out the monster-Zamia part to make things easier for me.

Lisa doesn't seem entirely averse to my decision. "You're really going to stay?" she asks. "There's got to be a lot of paperwork involved in taking over Zamia's empire, and you'll have to meet everyone who claims to know Zamia and convince them you knew him, too."

"Luckily, I'm a businessman," Omar interrupts. "I'll be able to teach him what he needs to know."

I hold Lisa's hand for a moment. "Any chance you want to spend some time here helping me set up?"

She gives me a grin, but she says, "I really do have plans back home. I have other places to go and Pokémon training activities to complete." She lets me think she's walking away from me before she adds, "But maybe I can make another trip out in a few weeks."

"I'd really like that."

I grab one of Lisa's bags and carry it out to the harbor for her. The _Hydrargyrum_ has already arrived and awaits its passengers for a trip back to the mainland. It makes me feel weird not to go home right away. I still have to go and put my other affairs in order, but first I want to set things in motion here.

"I have one last question," Geoff says before he boards. "Who won the tournament?" Lisa also looks at me curiously.

"There are a lot of ways to define victory," I reply. "I'm going to make sure each of you gets an equal part of the prize money." With all we've been through, they've earned that as a minimum prize. And it will be easy enough to say the tournament was called off for Zamia's medical difficulties.

But then again, I now get to assume the identity of the most notable name in Pokémon research. I guess it's all in how you look at it.

* * *

_I probably could have fleshed out the ending, but it would have been repetitive and I'm sure you get the point already._

_Credits:  
__Emily...sunshine5991  
Anfernee...watts63  
Lady Sunday...Happy2BMe  
Fell...Happy2BMe  
Shawn...Jack Krieg and James Crusade  
Jess...Imagination Domination  
Everyone else...YamiRuss_


	24. Addendum

This is not really a chapter, but my musings on the story as a whole. I would like to start by thanking any of you who were patient enough to make it all the way through. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.

Of course, I also need to thank the people who gave me characters to work with. Sometimes it can be tough to put someone else's characters into a story, but these folks did a great job; it wasn't tough to use these characters at all.

sunshine5991; Emily

watt63; Anfernee

Happy2BMe; Lady Sunday and Fell

Jack Krieg and James Crusade; Shawn

Imagination Domination; Jess

First is the obvious: This was far from a typical Pokémon story. I can see why people don't try to explain things as thoroughly as I did. The science may have been a bit too much for most of the readers. I found it all important at the time for establishing a sound base for the kinds of experiments Zamia was doing, but there are probably lower-grade ways for me to explain it (i.e., on an eighth-grade level is usually ideal). Of course, I may still have to learn the line between adequate explanation and "nobody cares," which was likely the case with some of the more difficult concepts such as vivisection.

Like I stated in the beginning, I tried to do this story from the first-person-present voice in order to establish a sort of _noir_ feel. I learned through this process that noir is impossible without pictures. If I stated only what Jin was thinking at any given time and never went into descriptions of the area, you would all have been completely lost and would think me an idiot (or James Joyce). This voice was an interesting experience and, while one I will likely never repeat, was worth trying out just to see how it works. It didn't work, but it was fun to try.

I think overall in the story, especially from the readers' viewpoint, this story had a problem with the _Blazing Saddles_ effect; that is, toward the end, all the rules suddenly seemed to change and the story went in a whole other direction. In my defense, I was building to the genetic tests from early on. It still felt like everything came out of the blue, though.

The story has ended now and most of the loose ends have been tied up, even if only vaguely. If you are interested in knowing a few more, minor details, keep an eye out for a short collection of spin-off chapters I will probably write in the future. I might do a few chapters on everyone's battles with the dialga and palkia (both the human and Pokémon versions), but my primary focus will be to describe what happened to Mayhan.


End file.
